


Reverb+

by Wolftraps (AlwaysBoth)



Series: Reverb [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical spiders, Cats, Feelings, Found Family, Kids, Time Travel, some archiving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysBoth/pseuds/Wolftraps
Summary: Bonus scenes from off screen or pre- or post- The Reverb in These Holy Halls.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Series: Reverb [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685689
Comments: 284
Kudos: 665





	1. Archiving

**Author's Note:**

> These are going to be a bit all over the place. They're mostly transferred over [from tumblr](http://wolftraps.tumblr.com/tagged/reverb) and written in response to asks or comments. Definitely don't read most of these if you haven't read Reverb yet.

Someone asked me about the cataloging scheme in [The Reverb in These Holy Halls](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F23107795&t=N2UyNWJhMmUxYzUzODBjYWQ4MTAwMTJlNDg1MTY3YTU3MDQwMmQzMixTbFJUQXh0Vg%3D%3D&b=t%3AakuziiFIknL-rNOB2Gxnig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwolftraps.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F613243468575358976%2Fwhen-an-archivist-actually-wants-to-archive&m=1), so! I’m gonna share here. (i spent so long trying to figure it out and talked to like three different library science people to work out a system)

Statement/case numbers in Reverb follow this format:

**Entity.Year of event.Date of statement(year/month/day).Relevant topics**

Technically there are 15 categories. 01-14 correspond with the Entities and 00 is for ambiguous or multiple Entity statements. And they’re numbered in the order Jon first encountered them.

****00.Misc/Multi/Unknown  
01\. The Web  
02\. The Eye  
03\. The Corruption  
04\. The Stranger  
05\. The Spiral  
06\. The Desolation  
07\. The Vast  
08\. The Hunt  
09\. The End  
10\. The Slaughter  
11\. The Flesh  
12\. The Buried  
13\. The Dark  
14\. The Lonely

  


Relevant topics (that i’ve thought of because there was a point where i just needed to stop and be satisfied with what i had) are:

A - avatar/fear-aligned person  
B - Leitner (books, not man)  
C - religion  
E - taken from correspondence   
I - recorded from subject  
L - location  
M - monster  
N - non-avatar notable person  
O - object/artefact  
R - resolved  
U - unresolved

(obviously pretty much all statements are gonna have a U, but whatever)

  


So, episode 1: Statement 0122204  
The Stranger. Happened in 2010. Statement given April 22, 2012. About the “anglerfish”

_04.2010.2012/04/22.M/U  
_

  


episode 9: Statement 0020312  
The Dark. Happened between 1990-1995. Statement given December 3, 2002. Robert Montauk sacrificing people for the Dark. Given by Julia Montauk.

_13.1990-95.2002/12/03.A/C/R_

  


episode 81: Statement 0171802-A  
The Web. Happened (roughly) 1995. Statement given February 18, 2017. Jon recording his statement about A Guest for Mr. Spider

_01.1995.2017/02/18.B/I/U_ (argument could also be made for A, since it’s Jon)

  


And there you have it.

How to file discredited statements:

However Sasha feels like it because Jon doesn’t care. They all get typed up with digital recordings, so they don’t take up as much space. And if you ask Jon he’ll just tell you to throw them all in a box in one of the back rooms. Eventually Sasha just decides to use the same system with XX. as the primary category.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tumblr [here](https://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/613243468575358976/when-an-archivist-actually-wants-to-archive)


	2. Patrząc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occurs at the end of Chapter 3 of The Reverb in These Holy Halls.  
> The acquisition of Patrząc from Jon's POV.

Despite the mandate, Jon doesn’t actually sleep that much during his ban from the Archives. _Some_ , of course. He’s still hiding enough, he’s not about to go back and lie to Martin about this as well. Though, if Sasha is to be believed, they’d know he was lying anyway. 

That, and he really does need the sleep. Even without the potential trauma he’d be inflicting on others, though, Jon would still be reluctant. Sometimes, he remembers walking through dreams, wandering them endlessly, powerless, for what feels like forever. It’s been nearly three years since he came back from that pseudo-death, and sometimes when he lays down he still can’t shake the fear that this time, he won’t wake back up.

He did promise to rest, though. To relax. To step away from work. That first night, he considers sneaking back in through the tunnels, but he knows exactly the face Martin would make if he was caught, and he’s not prepared for that. So instead, he wanders. He goes to the library, and Knows the plot of every book being read by every person he walks near, and he can only get maybe a chapter into any given book himself before the rest of it is suddenly being planted in his brain. 

A similar thing happens when he considers seeing a movie. 

By the second night of his “vacation”, he’s resorted to playing mindless phone games for hours. It’s sort of like resting. Still, he wouldn’t put it past his assistants to set up some kind of alarm that would let them know if he went in early, so he’s stuck at home. Sunday he manages to sleep for four straight hours and wakes up in the late afternoon somehow both groggier and more energetic than he’s been in a long time. He even considers making himself some kind of breakfast, until he looks around his kitchen and realizes there hasn’t been any real food there for over a year. 

The emptiness of it, and the silence of the flat around him, are suddenly very, very apparent, and Jon reminds himself that there’s no use hyperventilating when he doesn’t _need_ the air anyway. It doesn’t help much. He needs _out_ _._ He turns around, takes one step toward the door, and then jumps back with a yell. The responding skittering in his chest makes him shudder.

“That was rude,” he snaps at the spider on his floor. It inches toward him and he takes another step back. “And you _don’t_ count as company. Please be somewhere I can’t see you when I get back.” And then he quickly makes his way to the door and spends the rest of the evening walking from park to park because he hadn’t grabbed his wallet on the way out and he wasn’t going to go back _now._

Around 0300 he can’t keep going and decides it’s probably safe to go back. He doesn’t see the spider again, so that’s… something. He’s still tired when the sun rises, but no worse than usual. Hopefully that will be enough for Martin. 

The Institute is just barely out of sight still when Jon feels the tug. He rubs at his chest and does his best to ignore it, but two more steps forward and he can no longer move.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “What do you _want_?” Another tug. To the right? It’s the only direction he’s allowed to turn apparently. And then his attention is pulled down. Several spiders are there, forming a line as they all lead the way into the alley. He hears the growling before he sees her.

Tucked away in a corner is a thick mass of web, and trapped inside it is a cat. Jon drops to his knees, pulling the fibers away without hesitation. She makes one single swipe at him when one of her front paws is freed, but the scratch is barely enough to draw blood, and she’s clearly distressed. He’s not going to hold that against her. The growling stops after that. 

When he finally pulls her free, she squirms out of his arms immediately, chasing after one of the larger spiders until it gets too far up the wall for her to jump. It waves its front legs almost mockingly, and the cat hisses. She doesn’t actually seem mad, though. Something in her demeanor is almost… playful? As the spiders disappear from sight, she yowls once and Jon can’t help hearing “And stay gone!” in the sound.

And then she comes back to him and stands on her hind legs, front pawing at his hip, reaching in a clear demand to be picked up. So he does. She tries climbing on his shoulder, but he wraps his arms around her a bit more firmly.

“You’re not rubbing yourself against my hair until all that web is gone,” he tells her, and she huffs in response, but settles into his hold. When he gets her out into the sunlight, beneath the dirt and lingering strands of web, he can just make out a pattern, markings of darker black, barely visible against the black of the rest of her fur. Eyes. They blink at him. In the grand scheme of his life, it barely qualifies as “weird”. 

Jon can’t help but smile. “Alright,” he tells her. “Let’s get you home, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr [here](https://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/613706487358947328/bonus-patrz%C4%85c)


	3. When the Web comes courting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't read this prior to reading Chapter 5 of The Reverb in These Holy Halls.
> 
> Someone left a comment on Reverb asking: "Question! When did the big fookin’ spider get all cozy inside future Martin? If it isn’t spoilers? A pet-paranoia of mine is that Martin *was always* a web boi, in cannon. I am frighten that it is the case here."
> 
> So, i wrote a thing.

Jon’s had trouble sleeping for years. Martin’s known this, and it only became more apparent when they fled the Institute together. He likes to think he makes it easier, that Jon can relax a bit more with Martin by his side, but emotional comfort can only do so much against supernatural night terrors.

After the world ends, it gets worse. The dam has broken, and Jon has a hard enough time being present in his own body while awake, always one missed step away from being pulled down by the tide of information overload. Sometimes Martin has to hold his hand just to keep them moving. Not that he minds holding Jon’s hand. He just wishes it was for less practical and frankly terrifying reasons. Most days now, Jon gets so inundated with input that he can’t relax enough to sleep, and he’s so afraid of all the horrors that might be after them, that the slightest sound will pull him back from the edge.

The worst of it is that it isn’t actually about what’s after _them_. Jon’s regard for his own wellbeing is all but nonexistent, and if that doesn’t stab Martin right in the heart- If he’d just stayed away from Peter. If he’d been there for Jon after he woke up… It’s too late for that, though. The problem now is that Martin is the one who’s vulnerable. Human. With such a weak connection to the Eye and a very determined distance from the Lonely, Martin is little more than prey in this new world. He just wishes he could _help_.

So when exhaustion catches up to Jon, and they’re in as safe a place as they can be, Martin has no regrets about skipping some sleep himself to give Jon some peace of mind. To sit up all night with Jon’s head in his lap, running his fingers gently through Jon’s tangled hair, while Jon finally gets some rest.

Except “as safe as can be” these days isn’t very safe at all. Martin can feel the change. Not cold or silent, not the Lonely. Not hot or heavy like the Desolation or Buried. Not Dark. But there’s _something_ -

“Hello Martin.”

Martin jerks automatically, jostling Jon, but Jon doesn’t wake up. Worry hits him, and he shakes Jon’s shoulder with no response.

“He’s fine,” says the person in the window, sitting casually on the sill with limbs that seem too long. “I just wanted to talk to you alone. And you know he can use the sleep.”

“Who are you? What do you want from me?” Their laugh is soft and sounds like skittering.

“It’s not so much what we want from you, as what we can offer you.”

“Which is?” They step forward, off the sill, and Martin reaches as subtly as he can into the bag beside him for his knife, gripping it tight as they crouch beside Jon, studying him.

“The Archivist is going to be a very important part of this new world,” they say with something that almost sounds like fondness. Then they look at Martin, and he’s caught in the gaze of too many eyes. “And you are very important to the Archivist. Far too important to be so vulnerable.”

“You want me to become one of you.”

“We want you to want to become one of us. The Mother has always had a fondness for you, Martin Blackwood. And for him. Just say yes, and she will give you everything you need to protect him.” They reach out a spindly finger.

“Don’t,” Martin snaps before it can touch Jon’s face. “I… I’m not sure-”

“Don’t tell me now,” they say. “Think about it. I’ll leave a friend with you for now.” They hold out a hand, and on it sits a small spider. Martin’s own hand reaches out to take it, though he tries very hard not to, and it crawls up his arm without hesitation. “Take the time you need. She’ll let me know when to expect a guest.”

They laugh and it sends shivers up Martin’s spine. And then they’re gone, and Jon is stirring.

“Mmm- Martin? What’s-”

“It’s alright, Jon,” Martin says, though he’s not sure it is. “Go back to sleep. We’ve still got some time.”

Miraculously, Jon does, but Martin is still wide awake come dawn, trying not to think about the crawling sensation on his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tumblr [here](https://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/613252308316340224/someone-left-a-comment-on-the-reverb-in-these-holy)


	4. Post-Reverb fun facts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked me for some headcanons about the Institute and the fam post-Reverb and a little more about Ethan. I could turn this into an actual ficlet, but that sounds like a bit too much effort right now, tbh. And I could leave it out, but I wanted a little context for the next chapter.

The Blackwood Institute, or "Foster’s Home for Fear Monsters." They didn’t _mean_ to become a finishing school for dual-avatars, but also, Martin isn’t going to complain if he’s got people tied to all the other Fears as part of his web. Better chances of learning if anyone has figured out the trick to the Rituals yet.

Other things!

1) Basira did end up joining the Institute after a long, long debate, because she just couldn’t imagine _not_ working with Daisy. The two of them are in Acquisitions. They still stop in sometimes, but mostly they travel and do whatever they want and now and then they’ll drop by with a monster or cursed item or, on a couple occasions, a new employee. 

2) After Jonah’s death and Peter’s funeral, Simon Fairchild just had to see what was going on with the Institute. He found Martin delightful. Martin stole one of his adopted kids to take over coordinating travel for their field employees. They ended up being the first Web/Vast person at the Institute. 

3) Annabelle checks in every so often and brings them gifts of money or employees. She and Martin have a friendly rivalry going over who has the most influence over the Web-aligned at the Institute. Mostly it’s irrelevant. Martin has the Archivist, after all.

4) The Institute is open 24/7 now, mostly for ease of scheduling the Dark-aligned. Michael-the-night-receptionist, btw, is, in fact, the Michael Sasha kidnapped. 

5) The Lonely-aligned employees generally prefer to work remotely. The Corruption-aligned are required to. 

6) Almost all Institute employees are either Web or Beholding aligned (watcher or weaver) + something else. They’ve got one single person who is Desolation + the End (an orphan Daisy found in the burned out shell of a house that they all sort of co-raised, though mostly her and Jon, because Basira isn’t actually very good with kids and like hell was Jon going to let them neglect their education). They are the only Desolation-aligned person allowed in the Archives, and they’re the one who steps in when there are serious threats against the Institute.

7) Sasha gets [a cat](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fcomments%2F289299391&t=ZWIyNTQ1MDcwNmZjOTEzYmY0NzJmZjlkNGJlODA0ZDdlOTU5MjI4YSx0dnMxQkdVMA%3D%3D&b=t%3AakuziiFIknL-rNOB2Gxnig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwolftraps.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F614060716634357760%2Fahhhh-do-you-have-any-other-headcanons-for-the&m=1). Or, well, more like _makes_ a cat. Her cat and Patrząc have one single litter together, and the result is both so adorable and so terrifying that they’re not allowed to have another.

_Q: Can I ask about Ethan? Is he dual-aligned? Is his brother? What Archivist work entails, now that there aren’t the whole ritualistic sacrifice for nothing or the end of the world for him to worry about?_

Ethan’s just Eye. It’s uncommon, but it happens. Well, at least, he is for a long time. He starts being encouraged to “explore his options” once he gets a little too far into the Archivist role. He can’t be Lonely, though, because like hell is Naomi Hearne going to let either of her children go there. She put too much effort and love into making this family to let the likes of the Lukases take it away from her. 

His brother, Caleb, is not Fear-aligned. Caleb wants “nothing to do with any of that creepy shit and if you would, Ethan, please _stop_ telling us about your job, _I don’t want to know_.” Caleb ends up binging romantic comedies a lot after talking to his brother.

As far as work for the Archives? It’s not too different from what it was. They still take stories, record them, file them. Research is mostly competent enough to give them real info along with the files, so they do less of that. Instead, part of Ethan’s job is to find old statements. Old correspondence or recordings or anything, really, that wasn’t actually donated to the Institute. Any time a new collection of something is released, any time there are “unpublished manuscripts,” he looks for statements. 

He’s not sure if Jon is actually considering retirement (he doubts it, Jon’s only been doing this for like 40 years and he’s still barely middle-aged from the looks of him) but he’s overheard Martin on one of his rants talking about acquiring one of their sister organizations, to extend their methods. Ethan suspects whatever Institute or Library or what-have-you that they take over is going to need a Head Archivist of its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tumblr [here](https://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/614060716634357760/ahhhh-do-you-have-any-other-headcanons-for-the)


	5. Shay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "They’ve got one single person who is Desolation + the End (an orphan Daisy found in the burned out shell of a house that they all sort of co-raised, though mostly her and Jon."
> 
> Mostly scraps, but have 2500 words of Daisy and Jon raising a monster:

Basira finds the lead. There have been rumors that the Lightless Flame is trying to create a new Agnes. Jon thinks they may already have. He doesn’t Know, but his attempts to do so gave him a nasty sunburn for a couple hours, so he passed it off to them instead. Almost everyone involved in Agnes’s birth and childhood are gone, but there are still a couple known contacts, and at this point, Daisy can usually just follow the smell of burning.

It’s Basira who finds the lead, though, and takes them up to a tiny town about 100km north of Glasgow.

To what _was_ a tiny town north of Glasgow. Most of it isn’t even smoking anymore by the time they get there. If anyone survived, they’ve already fled. All except for one. There’s no sound that gives them away. No crying or screams. Daisy just follows the scent of smoke to the epicenter of the destruction, and huddled in the middle of the burned out shell of a house, with their head buried in their knees, is a child.

Her first step into the building disturbs some rubble, just enough to get the child’s attention without immediately prompting an attack. Their head snaps up, and they may not be crying now, but the redness of their eyes says they have been.

“Daisy,” Basira warns as she takes a step closer, and Daisy motions for her to keep back.

Another step, the child tenses. Another, they still don’t attack. Another. Another. When she’s finally only a couple meters away, the kid makes ready to run. So that’s where Daisy stops, and sits down amid the rubble and ash.

“Hi,” she says softly. “I’m not here to hurt you. My name is Daisy.”

No response.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Nothing.

“That’s alright. You can tell me when you’re ready.” Daisy slowly gestures at the destruction around them. “I’m going to take a guess and say you did this.” The child tenses. “Also going to guess you didn’t mean to.” They stare at her suspiciously for another few seconds and then jerkily shake their head.

“That’s okay,” Daisy reassures them. “I understand. I’m going to sit here as long as you need to feel comfortable, okay? You can talk when you’re ready, but I’m only here to help.” Their eyes flick briefly to Basira, still standing just outside the demolished wall. “That’s my partner, Basira. She’s not going to hurt you either. She’ll stay right there unless you say she can come in.”

And so they stay for another twenty minutes, sitting in silence.

“D-Daisy?” the child says eventually, their voice cracking and hoarse from smoke.

“I’m here.”

“You… don’t really look like a Daisy.” Daisy laughs.

“My real name is Alice.”

“You don’t look like an Alice, either.”

“Yeah. I didn’t really like it. Daisy’s better.” They nod.

“I’m… I’m Shay.”

“Hi, Shay. Good to meet you.”

“I… I really didn’t mean to,” they say, and their shoulders shake, but there are no tears. Daisy suspects they may be too dehydrated. “I just… I just wanted to see. And- and then I couldn’t stop it. And everyone was screaming! And- and-”

“Shh-shh. It’s okay, Shay. Can I come closer?” Shay nods and Daisy moves slowly, no sudden movements, until she sits again at Shay’s side. “I’d like to hug you, if that’s okay.”

“I- I don’t-”

“That’s fine too. I’m right here. However you need me.” Shay studies her for a long moment, barely breathing, and then a sob wracks through them and they’re buried in her side.

“I didn’t mean to!”

“I know. It’s okay. I know.” She rocks them gently until the shaking stops.

“What’s going to happen to me now?”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to take you home now.”

“Your home?”

“My home.”

“With you and Basira.”

“With us, and my friend Jon. And Martin and Sasha. Our whole little family. And yours if you want it.”

-

“A child,” Georgie says incredulously. “Someone gave _you_ a child?”

“Technically, _Daisy_ acquired a child. _I_ thought it best they learn in a more stable environment. Also they’re almost eleven. It’s not like we’re trying to raise a toddler in the Archives.”

“I’m not sure that’s better, Jon.” The child in question side-eyes them, but says nothing, just continues to sort papers. “They’re very quiet.”

“ _Now,_ ” Jon scoffs a bit. “There was a bit of a row earlier, and a yell that may have spawned a small tornado. Shay is cleaning up the mess they created, in silence, or they won’t be going out with Sasha tomorrow to witness Hurricane Gabrielle hit Florida.” He meets Shay’s glare with a flat stare of his own. Stubborn ten-year-olds have a remarkable ability to not be intimidated by staring, though they still break first, with a touch of an embarrassed blush.

“Jon! They’re a _child_.”

“Georgie! They’re _not human_. And I’m certainly not going to push them to pick a second patron at this age, so I would rather they participate in events that will occur anyway than for them to start blowing things up near our home.”

“So if they don’t behave, you’ll starve them.” The glare Jon aims at her has her taking a step back. It’s not often Jon aims any of his powers at Georgie, but it’s abundantly clear that that isn’t something she should have said.

“If they don’t behave, they will be taken to northern Georgia, where the hurricane will likely cause serious flooding, but little irreparable damage. They’re _already_ Desolation, Georgie, and I am not going to punish them for living.”

-

“Shay.”

“Oh, uh, hey, mum! W-what’s up?”

“Explain.”

“I’m just… protesting? Oh, come on! We’ve been careful. Minor injuries and some lingering trauma only. And you can’t tell me some of these assholes don’t deserve it!”

Daisy looks at them sternly for a good half minute, just enough to let them squirm.

“You’re targeting the wrong pressure points. And his lordship is over there,” she points to the building currently behind Shay, right on the edge of the localized earthquake they have going.

“Oh. Oops.”

“If you want to level the building three down from that, I won’t complain. Got a Stranger I’ve been after for a while squatting there.”

“Aww.”

“Don’t.”

“What? I think it’s sweet you still bring him Strangers for their anniversary!”

“You want pointers or not?”

“Not saying another word. What’s the secret to efficiently destroying a building?”

-

Jon finds them in the tunnels, sitting against a wall, wrapped around Patrząc. He sits beside them, just close enough to brush arms. Even then, he can feel the heat coming off them. Not burning, but feverish at least, if they were capable of having fevers.

Neither of them say a word for several minutes.

“I keep trying to cry,” Shay says, soft and flat. “I want to. I- I really fucked up this time, but I just… can’t. I can _feel_ them, their terror, and… I can feel when it stops. Every single one, it feels like i’m being dropped into ice water, but I’ve been burning so hot, it feels more like a balm. I… I know we’re not human, but shouldn’t- shouldn’t I be sad? Or… something?”

Jon leans his head back against the wall and considers. “I- spent a lot of my youth blaming myself for… everything, really. It took me a long time to accept that ‘you always have a choice’ and ‘some things are beyond your control’ aren’t mutually exclusive. Just because there _is_ a choice, doesn’t mean it could’ve gone any other way than how it did.”

“Didn’t you literally go back in time to change everything?”

“Yes. And I changed… a lot. It was hard to think of it that way at the time. Back then, it seemed like no matter what I did, everything was still going to go wrong. Some people probably would’ve been… No, no one would’ve been better off. Not in the end. That’s what I still have trouble remembering. We told you I came back because the world ended.”

“Yeah? Because of Jonah Magnus. You came back to kill him, so it didn’t happen.”

“I’m the one who ended it.”

“Wh- wait, _what?_ But you…”

“We tried to run away, but I was too much the Archivist to go without statements. Basira sent us some, but Jonah slipped one in, and it held the words to perform the ritual. By the time I realized what it was, I couldn’t stop reading. It wasn’t a choice I deliberately made, but _I_ ended the world.”

“Oh… fuck.”

“Heh. Yeah. And still, I wouldn’t have come back- I wouldn’t have been _able_ to come back- if Martin hadn’t been killed.”

“I don’t-”

“Do you know about Agnes?”

“Agnes… Montague? I read some of the statements, why?”

“If Daisy never found you. If you were raised by the Lightless Flame. You were meant to be her replacement. Your birth was orchestrated to bring about the apocalypse in the image of Desolation.”

“… Oh.”

“Agnes was conflicted. She had doubts. Eventually, she decided she couldn’t do it. She told them to hang her, so her spark would return to the fires of Desolation and they could try again.”

“… Oh.”

“Do you know the difference between you and her?”

“She chose not to destroy the world and I’m going to do it by accident?”

“No. It’s the same as the difference between timelines for me. The people around Agnes made her choose between dying and ending the world. The difference is that _your_ family would never want you to do either.”

“I… Jon- _Dad-_ There- there are still so many lives being lost. Because of me. And-”

“And you can feel them. Yes. You said it doesn’t feel bad. Does it feel good?”

“Wh- Um… Not- not especially? Mostly it just… is. It’s almost like… part of me wants to be satisfied, but instead I’m just numb.”

“That’s probably the best we could hope for.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. I’ll do my best to explain. We should go back up, though. Your mother is being gruff, but it’s because she’s worried about you.” Jon starts to lever himself up but is stopped by a warm grip on his arm.

“Could- could we stay down here, just a bit longer? The- the cold feels nice.” Jon smiles softly and sits and lets them lean in to rest their head on his shoulder, even though they’ve got enough height on him it can’t be comfortable. The two of them won’t be able to sit here forever. A fretting Daisy is already wearing a hole in the floor of the Archives with her pacing. And it’s unlikely the forest fire is going to go out without some supernatural intervention. He remembers this feeling, though, and how much he depended on Martin’s support.

He can give them this, for a little while longer, and then he’ll call Oliver Banks.

-

Ethan has been at the Institute for half a year when he finally meets Jon’s kid. They’re… a lot livelier than he expected. They blow through the Archives like a whirlwind (and, in fact, may spawn a small one, though it only disturbs some of the discredited statements, so it’s not like it matters), and almost _slide_ into a seat across from Jon.

“Mum says you have something for me,” they say, practically bouncing. “What is it? What is it?”

“Hello, Shay. Lovely to see you too. I’m doing just _swell_ , thanks for asking. How are you?”

“Oh please, you know exactly how i’m doing. But… yes, hi Jon, I missed you too.” Ethan has never once had any cause to doubt his mother’s love, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look at him with half as much fondness as Jon looks at Shay. Though, in fairness, that’s probably because he’s a bit too close to the situation with his own mum. “Soooo?”

“The Vast.”

“Oooh, that’s a new one. I thought Martin still had a pretty good hold on the Fairchilds.”

“ _Simon_ is trying his hand at space exploration again and won’t answer our calls. Helena says this new avatar isn’t a Fairchild and has no stake in our alliance.”

“Is she telling the truth?”

“Unfortunately. Kinsey Harris is a former RAF pilot. In 2031, there was a malfunction and his plane went down. He did not. In August of 2032, he came to the Blackwood Institute and made a statement. Ethan?”

Jon has been doing this more and more lately, quizzing Ethan on case numbers. Sometimes he remembers from his searches through old statements, sometimes he doesn’t. On at least two occasions, though, he’s known without ever seeing it.

“Umm… 07.2031.2032/08/14… I/L/R?” Jon nods, and Ethan tries not to look too proud of himself.

“New guy?” Shay asks, looking him over. They had clearly missed him in their sprint to Jon’s office.

“Not that new,” Jon scoffs.

“Jon.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to! Martin and Mum and even Sasha did it for you! I’m pretty sure Sasha doesn’t know what year it is half the time, let alone how long it’s been since I last visited the Institute.”

“Sasha knows what year it is at least 86% of the time, and she knows when it’s been too long since you came home.”

“Can’t we go back to you asking me to kill a guy? That conversation was a lot more fun.” Jon stares at them until they start to squirm, just a little, and Ethan’s spent enough time with him that he’s pretty sure he can see Jon fighting a smirk.

“Kinsey took one of our HR employees, Buried-aligned. She was missing for a week before she crash-landed in the front hall. Now one of our library staff, Len, Pitch, is gone.” All of Shay’s fidgeting has stopped, and there’s a sense of… something in the Archives. Static tension. The calm before a storm.

“Right. Give me everything you have on him.”

“Ethan has been collecting it all. He can fill you in while you grab something from the canteen.”

Shay doesn’t so much roll their eyes as their whole head. “ _You_ cannot judge me for skipping a couple meals. I was _busy_.”

“I can and I will. Go. Eat lunch. And we _will_ see you for dinner later.”

For a second it looks like there’s going to be an argument, but Shay stops before saying anything. “Who’s cooking?” they ask. Jon really does smirk now.

“Georgie and I are making curry.”

“Yessss. Okay. I’ll see you later. Love you!” They drop a kiss on Jon’s cheek and then Ethan is being pulled up the stairs by someone with Jon’s intensity and Ms. Tonner’s feral energy and he wonders if maybe he should be worried, but doubts he’s going to have much time for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tumblr [here](https://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/614223909805539328/theyve-got-one-single-person-who-is-desolation)


	6. Shay Tonner pt2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want each and every one of you who declared love for shay to know that this is your fault. holy shit this got long.  
> Additional warnings for this chapter: destruction, semi-graphic violence, minor character death, fire/burns, the Web, and everything that comes from being a very good found family made of monsters.

Shay is 10 when a woman who feels like the concluding prelude to a chase sits in front of them and makes herself small and says “I’ll wait as long as you need.” and “it’s not your fault.” and “I want to give you a home.”

They’re a few hours older when the other woman, who looks uncomfortable every time she realizes she’s staring, holds out a hand and introduces herself. Her eyes are always on them, but she doesn’t glare or judge. Just looks. She doesn’t know how to talk to Shay, but Shay doesn’t really want to talk anyway.

“Home” is apparently in London. Travel isn’t unfamiliar, but there’s a leisure to it that Shay’s never experienced before, and isn’t really expecting from the women they’re travelling with. In general, they both seem somewhat coiled to spring at all times. But now they take their time and stop at a house that’s theirs, but isn’t home, for a few days.

Shay is nervous, going into town, but it’s quiet and everyone greets each other kindly and Shay gets to pick out new clothes that _they_ like, though they _are_ warned away from more flammable fabrics. It’s annoying but they understand. And no one hurts anyone and no one uses Shay as a threat and it’s just kind of… peaceful, if strange.

Just over a week has passed with them when Basira sits up sharply, wincing, and holds her head with a groan. She glares at Daisy.

“The _Archivist_ wants to talk to you,” she snaps.

“Don’t call him that,” Daisy says, rolling her eyes but not looking away from her book.

“I’ll stop calling him that when he stops using me as your personal pager. _You’re_ Eye too!”

“Not as much as both of you,” Daisy sighs. “It’s harder with me.”

“Then he should _try_ harder.” Daisy looks at Basira and projects disapproval. Now it’s Basira who sighs. “Yes, I know. Now go call him before he gives me _another_ headache.”

Cellphones don’t get any signal here, and the cabin doesn’t have a landline, so Daisy needs to go into town to use a phone there. It’s the first time Shay is alone with Basira, and it passes mostly in silence. Daisy gets restless if she’s still for too long; as long as Basira has something to focus on, she won’t move for _hours_.

Shay is 10 and they have a fire whirl for blood. They start twitching first, then jittering, then they explore the cabin, but there are only four rooms and they’ve already been over all of it, and then they’re just kind of… there. Being a nuisance, as usual.

Basira doesn’t look up from her book, but she rolls her eyes. “Why don’t you go explore outside.”

“What?” Shay asks, not because they didn’t hear her, but because surely they didn’t hear her _right_.

“It’s a nice day. Go. Just don’t start any fires or earthquakes or whatever.”

“I- I can? _Alone?_ ”

Basira laughs. “I don’t need to be out there to watch you. Go.”

And so they do. They run and they dig and they climb until branches threaten to crack beneath them, and they send dead grass and leaves swirling into small whirlwinds, but always stop as soon as it gets hard to contain them. And they dig in the earth and talk to the cows and Basira never comes out to stop them. Their new clothes are dirty and there’s a rip in their trousers over one knee, but when it starts getting darker and they go back inside, no one scowls. Basira is in the same place she was when they left, though with a different book. Daisy is in the little kitchen, cutting up some kind of meat. She looks them over and nods and asks Basira where the sewing kit is.

Shay learns basic mending that night. They’ve never _fixed_ anything before. It’s fascinating, but also kind of uncomfortable.

In the morning, they continue on to London.

  
Shay is 10 and has been with Daisy for almost two weeks when they meet a man who looks them over, inside and out, without ever opening his eyes. There’s a weird feeling that when his actual eyes open, there are other eyes closing.

He holds out a hand, almost as awkward as Basira, and introduces himself as “Jonathan Blackwood, the Archivist, but you can call me Jon.”

Jon states that they want to learn to read. It’s true. He states that they’re good with numbers even though they’ve never been taught, which they thought might be true but weren’t sure about. He states that they _will_ control their “destructive tendencies” while in his Archives. He doesn’t say what the consequences will be if they don’t, and there’s a sense that this is because that just isn’t even a possibility.

Jon never asks them anything, but Jon also doesn’t give orders. Jon only states facts.

They’re a few hours older when another man, who smiles sweetly and makes you feel like you want nothing more than to give him whatever he wants, asks if they want some tea or maybe hot chocolate. Sometimes it seems like they make him nervous, but Martin is never anything but kind. He shows them around the Institute, talking about the place with a fond pride that only pales beside the way he talks about Jon.

Shay has heard about love before, but always only as a burning devotion to one’s god, meant to be expressed through acts of passionate destruction.

There is none of that love here, which is probably why it takes them so long to assign the word to what _is_ here. That love is nothing like the way Daisy and Basira speak through glances and gestures and act in tandem without thinking about it. It’s nothing like how Martin will always bring tea to Jon and sit with him until it’s finished when Jon’s been working too long, or how Jon will set aside everything to listen to Martin talk about whatever problems he’s having until Martin inevitably stops in the middle of a rant because a solution has come to him. It’s nothing like how sometimes Jon will get caught up in his own head, so Daisy will go down to the Archives and put her feet up on his desk and irritate him until he can’t focus on being sad anymore, and then they’ll smile at each other and go out for drinks.

Shay is almost 11 and sulking when Jon looks at Georgie, his friend, with true anger and tells her he won’t punish Shay for living. It’s the first time Shay realizes that they might be loved now, too.  
  


—

  
Shay is barely 12 when Jon and Daisy declare them ready to attend a real school.

It… doesn’t go especially well. Not at first.

They start making _some_ friends, they guess. Martin gave them some pointers, though the whole thing takes a bit too much effort for their liking. But there’s also a group of kids who decide they don’t like Shay for some reason. Sometimes they wish they were Eye like everyone else, so they could just _know_. Mostly it seems like the group doesn’t like that Shay isn’t timid or nervous or otherwise unsure of themself. Shay doesn’t know why they _should_ be any of those things.

The leader is named Chris. He jeers and asks Shay if they’re a boy or a girl and makes an ugly face when Shay says no. It’s not a question they’ve ever been asked before. The Lightless Flame passed them from person to person and didn’t much care. Everyone at the Institute didn’t need to ask. When Chris insists they answer, yells “what the hell _are_ you?”, Shay shrugs and says “a monster.”

Chris pushes them, and they don’t much care. But then Chris pushes Del, when he tries to help. Del, who smiled at Shay the first day and offered to show them around and shared some of his sweets.

Shay has never been to school before, but they’re pretty sure having your… guardian? called in during your first week is not good. They sit in the hall and pick at a fray in their sleeve and try to push down the anxiety until they almost shake with it.

When Daisy stalks in, the very air around her screams “run, I dare you.” She doesn’t glare at Shay, though. She stands in the headmaster’s office with her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed and demands the facts. And then, without ever raising her voice, points out that they can’t blame _her child_ for another’s carelessness. Because surely the headmaster wasn’t suggesting _her child_ somehow burned a boy’s hand with their skin. And why was the boy grabbing _her child_ anyway? Was that sort of behavior _acceptable_ to him? And everyone _saw_ the boy trip over that crack. Surely he wasn’t suggesting _her child_ somehow created a split in the pavement in the _four days_ they’d been in attendance or somehow pushed the boy from three meters away. That would be absurd. So, what exactly _was_ he suggesting then?

Shay sees the headmaster pull a bottle from his desk and take a shaky swig as they leave. On the way out, they pass Chris, sitting in the hall, waiting his turn with his bandaged hand and a tissue to his bleeding nose, and he flinches from them. It feels good. They pass Del as well, and he waves, but takes one glance at Daisy and seems to think better of coming up to them.

Outside the school, Daisy puts a hand on their shoulder, and they wait. This must be the point where she tells them off for lack of control or the like, but instead she just smirks.

“Not too full for ice cream, are you?”

When Shay returns to school the following week, Del rushes up to them, barely-contained excitement, and says, “I don’t know how you did that, but thanks. It was brilliant!”

Also, “Your mum is terrifying.”

It will still be several months before Shay tentatively calls Daisy “mum” to her face, but they’ll keep the polaroid Martin gives them of the hug that follows in their wallet for years.  
  


—

  
Shay is 14 and struggling, the first time Jon comes to their school instead of their mum. Daisy and Basira are somewhere in Lithuania, tracking down a mask that suffocates people or glasses that blind them or something. But it’s the fourth time in two weeks that Shay’s been disciplined for being “disruptive”, and so the school called their “parents”.

Apparently, on paper, their parents are Daisy and _Jon_. Which would be laughable if one was talking biologically, but… well, it makes sense.

Jon doesn’t look angry when he comes in, but Jon very rarely looks angry. He also doesn’t look especially tired or exasperated, though, which seems like a good sign. The headmaster invites him into the office, but Jon ignores him completely and sits beside Shay first.

“I’d like to hear what happened, if you’re willing to tell me,” he says.

“You _know_ what happened,” Shay points out, maybe, possibly sulking… just a bit.

“Technically, I know the events. I don’t know what they looked like to _you_.”

“Martin does.”

“Martin does not, because Martin wouldn’t look unless he was afraid for you and you wouldn’t talk to anyone. I hope you’ll talk to me.”

“Give you a _statement?”_ they snap. Jon sighs and closes his eyes, resting his head back against the wall.

“Mr. Tonner?” the headmaster prompts, sounding irritated. Seeing him freeze under Jon’s stare is, admittedly, kind of funny.

“It’s Mr. _Blackwood,”_ Jon corrects sharply. “Has it somehow escaped your attention that I am trying to speak to my child?”

“No, I just believe my time is more valuable than yours,” the headmaster says. His eyes go wide immediately and he stutters through some kind of apology.

“I suggest you return to your office, _Robert_. I will be with you when we’re done here.”

The headmaster, _Robert_ , flounders for a few more seconds before turning around, without another word, and closing the door behind him.

“So?” Jon prompts. Shay sighs.

“I dunno? I’m bored, I guess? They get mad when I fidget, and they get mad when I draw, and they get mad if I start the assignment while they’re still talking, and they get mad when I do anything _other_ than the assignment, even if I’ve already _finished_ the assignment. And they think _all_ my interests are ‘inappropriate’. Mrs. Patrick is the worst. I corrected her math once and she just decided she hated me or something. She won’t call on me and then she marks me down for not participating and she calls it cheating when I help Del with his work, even though it’s not a test and there’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to help him! And it just makes me want to _break_ things, but I _can’t!_ ” There’s a strong breeze rushing through the hall now, and they try to calm down, but the whole thing is such _bullshit_.

Jon leans into them, just slightly. “Can you feel the foundations?” he asks.

It takes them a minute, but they can. Sort of. It’s never actually the foundations or the walls that they feel. It’s the cracks and faults and all the weak spots. They nod.

“She’s alone in her classroom now. There’s a crack in one of the windows. All it would take is one, little…” Jon trails off as Shay grins and a strong wind outside sends a small rock flying into the glass of Mrs. Patrick’s window. They can hear shattering glass and a high pitched shriek echoing through the hall. There’s a definite smirk on Jon’s face. He nudges them again. “Shall we?”

Inside the headmaster’s office, Jon sits, but doesn’t make any sign that Shay should as well. Jon doesn’t care if they pace or twitch. He doesn’t even care if they sing in the Archives, as long as it’s not while he’s recording a statement. Jon never tells them to “settle down”, he just gives them distractions or a focus. The headmaster keeps trying to look at them as they tap their fingers on the back of the spare chair, hairline cracks spreading with each drum, but Jon’s looking him in the eye, and no one can break a staring contest with Jon until he lets them.

Afterward, with a binding promise for some policy changes (and Shay suspects Jon may have been channeling Martin for part of that), they leave behind a shaken man, already reaching for his desk drawer. And Jon leads them toward Mrs. Patrick’s room, where the woman herself is standing just outside the door, berating the school’s caretaker for negligence or somesuch.

“Mrs. Patrick,” Shay greets, and when she looks at them, her face sours even more.

“Still here, are you?” she says, nowhere in the vicinity of kind.

“I wanted a word before we leave for the day,” Jon says.

“O-oh. I’m sorry, you are—?” She looks over Jon, with his messy bun and tired face and tattoos of eyes on his hands and neck, and does a very poor job of hiding her disdain.

“Jonathan Blackwood. Shay’s father. Tell me, Jessica. _What is your issue with my child?_ ”

“They’re an arrogant little freak. I can’t understand someone _not_ having a gender, which makes me angry, and I still feel humiliated by them correcting me on my own subject. I think they’re an affront to nature and I despise them for being smarter than me.” Mrs. Patrick’s eyes are wide and fearful. It’s _great._

“I see,” Jon says; calmly on the surface, but Shay can hear the threat underneath. And then he walks away and Shay hurries to follow. That can’t be the end of it, which means Jon must have something more lasting in mind for Mrs. Patrick than just blackmail or painful truths.

“Hey! Shay!” Del calls before they make it off the grounds, running up with a grin. “In trouble again?”

Shay glances at Jon and carefully doesn’t grin. “Not exactly.”

“Oh… cool. Um… Hi. M-mr. Blackwood,” Del stammers, apparently just noticing Jon.

“Del.”

“Uh, i-if Shay isn’t in trouble. I was- I was kinda hoping they could, uh, help me? With my math?”

“I think perhaps that’s something you should be asking Shay.”

“R-right. Um. Sh-shay, would—”

Shay snorts. “Yeah, come on. Sasha’s out, so we can work in the library.” They and Jon both continue toward the Institute, and Del scrambles to keep up.

“Uh, why does it matter if Sasha’s there?”

When they walk through the Institute doors, Jon waves them on. “Martin and I need to have a discussion about Jessica Patrick and today’s events,” is all he says before disappearing into Martin’s office.

“Your dad freaks me out,” Del whispers. “And I don’t think I’d want to be Mrs. Patrick.”

“Yeah,” Shay grins. “He’s pretty great.”  
  


Mrs. Patrick is out “sick” for three days after that. And when she returns her entire demeanor has changed. Her voice is always soft, with just a slight undertone of tension. She’s always smiling, the edges pulling just a tiny bit too far toward her ears. And she seems to have a newfound excitement for her work, but Shay is looking, and they can see the fear in the wideness of her eyes. It’s easily their favorite class the rest of the year.

  
Shay won’t call Jon “dad” to his face for another three years, but they know he knows.  
  


—

  
Shay is 15 and sitting in the Archives with their mum while Jon takes a statement from a zombie when Vera from the library pokes her head in.

“Hey, Shay! Sasha said I’d find you here… Well, actually she said you were on the roof, but I figured that probably meant here. A couple of the others and I are going on a group retreat this weekend. I wondered if you might want to come with?” It’s the first time Shay has been invited. They know about the “retreats”, of course. It’s just that none of their family ever go on them. None of them ever need to.

Shay looks at their mum, who’s staring at Vera like she’s cataloguing every possible weak spot. Which is ridiculous, because she definitely already knows the vulnerable points of every single Institute employee.

“You’ve cleared this with Martin,” Daisy states.

“Yes, ma’am,” Vera confirms. “I know they get out to disasters sometimes. I just thought—”

“It’s up to you,” Daisy says to Shay.

  
There are five of them, including Vera. Lonnie, from Artefact Storage; Katja, from HR; Jed, from PR; and Sam, who only ever really comes in when one of the artefacts is deemed too risky to keep in the Institute. And they all welcome Shay with smiles. Jed drives near twice the speed limit the whole way, and any police they pass mysteriously start having engine issues. The whole atmosphere is light and anticipatory at the same time.

When they get to the hotel, just outside Scarborough, Sam lays out a map in one of the rooms, and they all gather around it.

“Alright. What are we thinking? Fire?” Katja asks.

“Nahhh. Definitely tidal wave,” Jed says with a grin.

“Why don’t we ask the new kid,” Sam says, and they all turn to look at Shay. Something about that expectant gaze focused on them puts them just a little bit at ease. It feels like the Institute, like home.

“I’m a fan of tornados,” they say, and Vera and Lonnie both smile.

“I think we can work with that,” Sam says, and they all lean back over the map.  
  


—

  
Shay is 16 and on their third “group retreat” when they run into the Lightless Flame again.

It’s been six years, but they still remember Ian. They remember how much they _hated_ him. They _almost_ manage to shake apart the ground beneath his feet and trap him before he gets hold of them. Almost. And then he does something and they’re waking up somewhere else, handcuffed to a metal chair. Somewhere dark and quiet that smells only of smoke.

Shay breathes deep and closes their eyes, focusing on the sounds. They can’t hear breathing or shuffling or any other signs that someone else is in the room with them. They tap a cuff against the chair, no echo. A small room, then.

They tug at the cuffs, testing. They’re probably loose enough that Shay could slip out, if they broke their thumb, but trying to break out without any further knowledge of the place is a risk and they know Ian doesn’t want them dead. He thinks they’re Important. A Vessel. Ian believes in unfettered devotion to one’s god, and that someday Shay will be host to that god… Which means it’s probably better to wait, to get a better idea of their surroundings.

The others will let Martin and Daisy know as soon as they realize Shay is missing. They’ll _have_ to. In fact, depending how busy it is at the Institute, Martin may just know as soon as they do. And the Desolation may fend off the Web for a while, but Ian won’t be able to hide Shay forever.

It’s hard to tell how long it is before Ian returns, with no light in the room. A single, wavering candle flame lights his way.

“Hello, Shay,” he says. Drawls, really. Dramatic fuck.

“Ian.”

“You _do_ remember me. That’s good. It’s been a few years; I wasn’t sure.”

“Your sort of fanaticism is kinda hard to forget.”

“Fanaticism. Hmm. I think I prefer _devotion_.” Shay can’t resist rolling their eyes.

“Yeah. You would.”

“You used to understand my vision, before the _EYE_ turned its gaze on you.”

“Preeeeetty sure I didn’t. I was just too young to know how crazy you are.”

“And your new caretakers are somehow better?” he snaps. “They have no idea how special you are. I _worshipped_ you.”

“ _Yeah!_ That’s _creepy!_ I’ll pass, thank you.” Ian stalks the three steps it takes to stand before them, and holds the flame of the candle to the side of their face. They can feel the skin burn and blister and bubble and then he pulls back and it all peels and falls away. They can’t necessarily feel it, but they know there isn’t a mark left.

“I have to believe you’re not beyond saving,” Ian says, cementing their belief that they want nothing to do with him. “One day you will be a god.”

And then he leaves. It was enough. The room they’re being held in is dusty and wallpapered, and the door leads into a hallway. They’re being held in a house, an older one, and from the way he spoke, Ian is probably the only other one here. Which means that, somewhere in this building, there is almost definitely a spider.

Getting their boots off without their hands is much harder than it should be, but they suppose that’s kind of part of the point of boots. And eventually they do get one off, along with their sock. With an actual connection, they spread their awareness through the boards, walls, foundations; through every crack and fault. And then they shake the earth. Not enough to get Ian’s attention or cause any structural damage, but more than enough to send a shudder through any nearby spiderwebs. And then they wait.

They’ve never been very good at it.

It itches a bit.

When Ian returns, they only know it’s been at least three hours because they’ve resorted to _counting_. And any time they lose track, they start over. They’ve made it to 1000 four-ish times and 3000-ish almost twice, with several failed, smaller counts between. With each minute that passes, they tap their bare foot on the floorboards, sending hairline fractures through the wood.

When Ian returns, after more than three hours, he brings someone else. Someone human and terrified. The man stumbles and falls to his knees in front of Shay’s chair, and Ian looks at them expectantly.

“Well?” he asks.

“Well, what?”

“ _Eat_.”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

“ _Burn him._ ”

“Not actually that big a fan of fire. Go figure.”

“Burn him or I’ll do it for you.”

“What, you expect me to do it out of guilt? Mercy? Greed? Fuck you, Ian. If you want him dead, you’re going to need to do it yourself. But don’t pretend you’re doing it for _me,”_ Shay spits. “Burning a man alive isn’t _Desolation_. It isn’t _Destruction_. That’s Slaughter and Death, and I’ll _pass_ , thanks. You know, for someone who fashions himself a priest, you make a pretty piss-poor worshipper.”

Ian practically tosses the candle aside, though it sputters out before ever hitting the floor. Instead his skin burns red hot, glowing. The man he has by the back of the neck screams in pain, and falls the rest of the way to the floor when released. Two strides forward, and Ian has Shay by the jaw. They can feel their skin blister, like with the candle, but the pressure hurts more than the heat.

“You used to be better about holding your tongue,” he hisses.

“Yeah. I get it from my dad,” they grit out. He shakes them.

“You _belong_ with _us._ ”

There’s a groan from the man on the floor. From the corner of their eye, Shay sees him move, not quite naturally, and slam a fist against the floor. Again, and again.

“What—” Ian lets them go to turn back to his victim, but that doesn’t matter. Shay got the message. They lift their leg and slam their foot against the floor and tear apart all the fractures they’ve made. One of Ian’s legs plunges through a board, and from beneath it skitter hundreds of spiders. The first wave mostly falls away, his skin still too hot to touch, but they manage to get a thin layer of web wrapped around him. They’re mostly a distraction anyway.

There’s the slam of a door hitting the wall, a growl from the doorway, and there stands Shay’s mum. The most brilliant and terrifying thing they’ve ever seen. It takes her a matter of moments to tear Ian’s head from his body, and then drop it carelessly to the floor.

“Alright?” she asks, still more growl than voice, as she digs the cuff keys from Ian’s pocket.

“Peachy,” Shay says. Daisy gives them a quick glare.

“I need to have _Jon_ ask?”

“No. Mum, I’m… mostly fine. Really. I knew you’d come.” As soon as their hands are free, Daisy has them wrapped in a tight hug.

“Always,” she whispers. “But don’t think we’re letting you out of our sight for the next decade.”

“ _What?_ That’s not fair!”

“Tough.”

There’s a creak of another door opening behind them.

“Oh good,” Sasha says. “Which part would you like me to take?”

“The head, as long as you’re going to take it _straight_ to Jon,” Daisy says sternly, and Sasha laughs a little. It echoes like nothing else has in the space.

“I’ll stay with you the whole way,” Sasha promises.

“Is he dead?” Shay asks as too-long fingers pick Ian’s head up by the hair.

“Not quite yet,” Daisy growls, tossing his body over her shoulder. “Jon wants a word first… Come on. Home.” She keeps one arm laced through Shay’s the whole way through Sasha’s paths.  
  


—

  
Shay is 18 when they meet Willa, and it’s the first time they’ve ever struggled to keep up with someone. It’s… invigorating. She’s so _passionate_ about everything, which would usually put Shay in mind of the Lightless Flame, but it’s not blind devotion. Willa doesn’t have Faith, she has Causes.

She takes Shay with her to rallies and protests. They scream and march and there’s so much _potential_ that Shay sometimes shivers with it. They threaten the livelihood of people who deserve to have their livelihood threatened. People who would do well to know a little fear.

“Make sure you understand what it is you’re fighting for,” Jon warns them early on. “Do your research or come to us. Don’t just take someone’s word for it.”

“Know the risks you’re taking,” their mum says. “And the consequences. Try not to get caught on camera.”

“And if you’re arrested,” Basira chimes in dryly, without ever looking up from her book, “you tell them whoever talks to you is going to need to sign a Section 31 form.”

“Just be smart about it, please,” Martin sighs. “You’re not Slaughter. There are better ways to ruin someone’s life than a brick through their window.”

“Deny everything,” Sasha laughs. “And plan your escape in advance.”

They do _try_ to follow their family’s advice, mostly. But it’s hard to remember sometimes in the moment. When there’s a pulse to the crowd around them and Willa keeps giving them that grin and the men in the tower are all on their phones with their lawyers, panicking.

When metaphorical bricks do start getting thrown, it feels right. When the fire starts, Shay’s blood burns too. When everything around them is a roar, and Willa tries to pass them a molotov cocktail, it seems only natural to grin back and not take the bottle. To yell “watch this” with a wink. To give a battle cry, and let the force of the yell twist round and round until there’s a fire whirl crashing into the side of a building and the screams around them turn from rage to terror, and Willa’s eyes go wide with wonder.

She kisses them then, with all the passion they’ve been swept up in.

Neither their mum nor Basira are there when they get home late that night. Instead, Jon is sitting at the kitchen table. He motions for them to take a seat, without a word, and slides a sheet of paper across to them.

“Read,” he says, and a tape recorder clicks on. Suddenly it’s hard to swallow. The high they’ve been running on drains quickly. They pick up the paper.

“S- Statement of Fatimah Daivari, reg-regarding a fire whirl in central London. Statement given September 7th, 2039… Rec-ording by Shay Tonner.” They look up at Jon, semi-hopeful, but he just looks solemn and nods them on. “Statement… begins.

 _“I knew about the protests, of course. You can’t work in that part of London and_ not _know. And my bosses were all in a rage about it. But I guess I just figured it was a bunch of kids, you know? They’d yell and put shit online and maybe do some petty vandalism, but eventually they’d get bored…”_

Shay’s never recorded a statement before. It’s… an uncomfortable experience, and not one they’re eager to repeat. As Fatimah’s fear fades from them, another, uncomfortably familiar feeling takes its place.

“I didn’t mean to,” they whisper. Someone takes their hand, and they look over to see that their mum had come in sometime during the statement.

“I know,” she says, just like she did almost a decade ago.

“It just— It felt so…”

“We know,” Jon repeats. “I know. Daisy knows. Sasha knows. Martin knows. We’ve all felt it. How good; how _right_. That fear is what our entities want, and we were made as we are to get it for them. We live on it now, and we won’t begrudge you for it. Wanting it isn’t the problem.”

“It’s focusing it, I know.”

“Daisy asked me to talk to you,” he tells them. “Not just because I had the statement.”

“Mum doesn’t like having heart-to-hearts when she’s mad. She says it makes her aim for the weak spots.” Daisy doesn’t say anything to that, just holds their hand tighter and nudges her shoulder against theirs.

“Yes. But that’s not why. She asked me because I had this talk with her too.”

“Wh-what? I mean, she told me things were bad when she was police, but—”

“She was going to kill me. I was a murder suspect, but she didn’t care if I did it or not. I ran, so she hunted. I was a monster, so she was going to kill me.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“ _Jon,”_ Daisy sighs.

“Daisy killed a—”

“Yeah, but _you?_ Mum doesn’t even like leaving you alone in the _Archives_ , she thinks you’ll get hurt. I’m pretty sure she worries less about _me_.”

“Do not.”

“To my dismay, yes,” Jon agrees. “That’s… all part of a longer story. What’s important now is that she was going to kill me, and I traumatized her to get away, but told her I’d be there if she ever needed help.”

“Forgot how _terrible_ you are at lead-ins,” Daisy groans, slouching further into the chair and staring at the ceiling like it will somehow help her.

“This is about the whole time-travel thing, isn’t it?”

Jon laughs. “Partly. I—”

“He gave me a memory. One from the other Daisy. It made me look at what I was doing. What I _was_. I tried to stop. Tried to give up the hunt.”

“You… starved yourself.” Shay can’t even imagine. Their mum has never been less than completely sure of herself, ever, in their memory. Shay has envied her lack of doubt.

“Reached a point where I could barely stand, and didn’t think I could hold back much longer. But that memory… Jon pulled me out of the Buried. I remembered that. So I went and asked for help. That’s when I became Beholding too.”

“The Eye let her be more discriminate in her hunts, and gave her an option other than killing at the end.”

“Purpose and boundaries,” Daisy says, a smirk twitching the edge of her lips, like it’s some kind of inside joke.

“That’s great, but— I don’t have another patron,” Shay points out. “None of them have…”

“You don’t need one,” Jon says. “Not yet. But you need to be more aware, more cautious, if you’re going to keep going to these protests. You need to remember who you’re targeting.”

“You’re… not going to make me stop?” It was honestly the _first_ thing Shay had expected when they came home to find Jon.

“Not going to tell you to stop trying to do a good thing,” Daisy says. “Just be smart. And… be careful, with that friend— Willa. Especially now.”  
  


The thing about living with people who can See and Know almost anything, is that you learn quickly not to dismiss their warnings. But Willa is their friend, and they _like_ her, and doing these things with her feels like _purpose_. So Shay does their absolute best to give her the benefit of the doubt. And they can… for a while. When she suggests Shay collapse an empty building to protest unsafe working conditions, that sounds fine. When she holds their hand and asks them to make her a tornado to terrify some politicians, it’s no trouble to keep it localized. When she tells them they should set fire to the oil reserves of a company trying to undo the world’s efforts toward renewable energy, they can believe she didn’t know how large an explosion it would be, or how many people would be too close.

But then her plans slowly stop accounting for bystanders. It stops mattering to her if there are casualties. It starts to seem like, the more people hurt, the more victorious Willa thinks they’ve been. It gets harder and harder to miss the cruelty in her eyes. They’ve seen it before, in a former WWI vet their mum had brought to Jon after cutting off his hands so he couldn’t use his fingers as knives.

They don’t want to _stop_. Despite Willa trying to pull them too far, they actually feel like they’ve been accomplishing something, while still being true to their nature. But it becomes painfully clear that they can’t keep doing it with _her_.

So, so painful.  
  


Shay is 19, and they’ve never been stabbed before. Behind the pain is the worry that Willa is too far gone, that maybe the wound will stay. But even as the knife slides out, they can feel the flesh cauterizing itself, healing. They can feel themself burning too.

There’s nothing but violence in Willa’s eyes when she tries to stab them again. Or when Shay grabs her wrist and jerks the knife aside. Or when they put a hand to her chest to hold her back.

Or when the whirl of fire within their blood starts burning her up.

“I’m sorry,” Shay says, when the terror finally hits, right as she crumbles to ash.

It’s too much, though. They keep burning, and burning, and burning, even as they fall to their knees.

Burning, burning, raging through the trees, until the first creature is consumed by the flame, and a flash of ice spears through them.

They need to go. They need to get away from here. They need to _do_ something, but they can’t. Stopping Desolation isn’t within their abilities. Jon will know. They just need… they need to find a door, a way out of the woods… or they need to get lost. It’s hard to remember which way they came from, so they turn away from the fire and run. But it feels like the fire is following them, trailing in their wake… _blazing_ in their wake. And still building within them.

They run until Sasha wraps them in her arms, and then pulls away, scalded.

“I can’t—” they try to say- “can’t keep it…”

Sasha grabs their hand and pulls them through her door, even though their touch must be burning her. And then they’re somewhere dark and cool and stone on all sides.

“Let it go, as soon as I’m gone,” Sasha says, more serious than they’ve ever heard her. “I’ll bring your parents as soon as it’s safe.”

The door is gone, and Shay bursts.

There’s nothing here to burn, though, and the wave of fire dies fast. This one, at least. But they can still feel the blaze they left rushing through the trees. Can still feel each death in their veins like a balm.

They’re still afraid they’re burning too hot, when Patrząc crawls into their lap, but she just purrs. They curl around her and try to cry. They try and try, because it _hurts_. They _need to_.

The desperation is gone when Jon sits beside them, but they’re still trying.

They need to fix this, somehow. And they will. Later, with help. Right now they just want to hug their dad and cry, but they’ll settle for one arm wrapped around them and closing their eyes.  
  


—

  
Shay is 20 when, not for the first time, the Dark tries to get a foothold in London, a touch too close to the Institute. Last time, in the early days of the Blackwood Institute, Martin had contacted Manuela and Rayner only to be told, essentially, that the new avatar was not part of the People’s Church, so they wouldn’t be doing anything. But hey, non-interference, yeah? Get rid of him your own damn self.

Shay isn’t actually sure how much Martin is paraphrasing when he says this.

Daisy made contact. Martin tried to negotiate. Jon watched intently. Still, the man refused to leave, and laughed when told staying came with stipulations. Likely to spite them, he killed four people within a month and blinded three others. Eventually, Martin and Sasha trapped him in part of Sasha’s labyrinth. Except he somehow managed to find his way out.

“He wasn’t the first to try testing us,” Martin sighs. “And he won’t be the last. We’ve handled them all, but trapping them is all we really _can_ do. Something needs to change, or they’re going to keep being threats.”

“I could try a mirror house this time,” Sasha offers. “But if he found his way out before, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did it again.”

“Did we try cutting his head off?” Basira asks. “That usually works best.”

“Yes,” Daisy says. “He healed, immediately. No matter how fast I went, he’d start healing around the blade.”

“I could probably do it,” Shay offers, and everyone turns to look at them. “The whole ‘The End’ thing?” For the most part, their connection to their new patron has been passive. A side-effect of the disasters they find. They’ve never called on it like this before, but… Georgie did it for Magnus, and she wasn’t even an avatar, so it can’t be that hard, right?

“Would it work?” Basira asks, looking between Jon and Daisy. Jon opens his mouth, but Daisy cuts him off.

“Doesn’t matter,” she snaps. “We’re not asking you to.”

“I know. I’m offering.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“So are we! It’s not like I’m planning on going off on my own to confront this guy to his face. You find him, Sasha gets us all somewhere bright, and I take care of the rest!” Jon clears his throat. “… After Jon takes his statement.”

“Shay…”

“ _Mum_. It’s not like he’ll be the first person I’ve killed.”

She sighs and turns to Jon. “Well?”

“It should work. We’ll need somewhere bright, without any shadows. And it may take some time for him to weaken enough.”

“Desert, late morning?” Sasha suggests.

“If he can’t seep into the shadows, I should be able to trap him,” Martin says. “And once the statement starts, he won’t be able to move until it’s done anyway.”

No one says anything for a long moment.

“Soooo… we’re doing it?” Shay prompts, hopeful.

Their mum looks at their dad, who just shrugs, and then she sighs.

“Yes, alright.”  
  


The Sahara at midday is hot even to Shay. It’s tempting to summon a tiny whirlwind, just for a breeze, but in a place like this, there’s too great a chance of it becoming a sandstorm. So instead they stand beside their mum, on the verge of discovering whether or not they really can sweat, while Devon Anders spills his life story until his voice cracks and his terrified eyes try to rip themselves away from Jon’s gaze in vain.

The sun is promising to start its descent when his voice gives out and the statement ends, and he stares at the darkening horizon with hope. Jon nods to Shay.

They crouch beside the man.

“You’ll never see the dark again,” they tell him, and relish in his terror.

“Please,” he rasps, but not to them.

“Your god can’t reach you here,” they tell him, and feel his hope die.

“No,” he breathes.

“You shouldn’t have fucked with my family,” they tell him, and lay a hand on his burnt skin, and that second before he dies is perhaps the most satisfied they’ve ever felt. And then he’s gone, body and all.

Jon grips their shoulder, and they can’t tell if the involuntary twitch is because they’re burning or because they’re freezing. “That was good,” he says.

“Anyone else ready to kill for some ice cream?” Sasha asks as her door creaks open.

Daisy brings up the rear, as always, and Shay falls back to walk alongside her.

“There’s no point in being this way if I can’t use it to protect my family,” they say softly.

Their mum huffs, and laces an arm through theirs. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m proud of you.”  
  


—

  
Shay is 27 when they sit in the Blackwood Institute cafeteria, across from a man whose stare holds the barest hint of the weight of Jon’s, but is clearly on the same path. Ethan Hearne still doesn’t realize just how much he sees, and doesn’t know better yet than to not ask questions. It’s good for him that Shay is well used to it all.

“So you _don’t_ work for the Institute?” he asks.

“Not _technically_ ,” they say, letting the words fall out. “For paperwork purposes, I’m a contractor. Makes it a little easier on Martin anyway. I don’t have a salary, but I can expense all my travel. It’s all for tax purposes, anyway. It’s not like anyone here is going to make a fuss about something like _nepotism._ Especially not with what I do here.” They steal another chip from his plate, and his eyes follow it the whole way, but they’re pretty sure he’s not actually noticing. His expression doesn’t change, anyway.

“Yeah, okay. That makes sense. So if you don’t work here, what _do_ you do?”

“Risk assessment and emergency management… technically.” While they’re not unfamiliar, Jon does _try_ not to ask them direct questions, so the sensation still has a bit of novelty. It makes explaining easier, at any rate. “I go to places that are in the midst of, or are going to experience some kind of disaster in the near future. I ‘assess’ the area, predict the extent of the damage to come, and make suggestions on mitigation. And then I stay for the duration and assist in relief efforts.”

“Doesn’t that kind of… counter your purpose?” Shay shrugs.

“Maybe a little. It would definitely be better for me, god-wise, if I were to consistently underestimate damages and sabotage all aid afterward. And there’s nothing quite like standing in the middle of a Cat5 hurricane after a failed evacuation. But, well, you know my parents. I know monsters from villains, and it’s way more satisfying to ruin the lives of people with a lot to lose. People who generally bring it on themselves. And I do some of that, too, but never so it can be traced back to me.

“For my real job, I go where tragedy is about to strike, and I try to direct it toward the ones who can better take it. I can be an instrument of terror and still want to do some good in the world. I guess it’s a little fucked up, but these things are going to happen no matter what I do. Even if I can’t help during one, it feeds me, so maybe I can help during the next one.”

Ethan stares at them absently, and still doesn’t react when they steal another chip. One more, they figure, and they can probably get away with taking the whole plate. He’s thinking _something_ , but he hasn’t been part of this long, and Shay doesn’t get insights like the rest of their family. The last time they had a conversation about this with someone outside the Institute…

“I don’t think you’re a scavenger,” he says, and finally his eyes go wide. “I- Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

Martin or Sasha would let him think they were upset, just to make a point. Shay takes after their parents too much and has never been a good liar. They burst into laughter almost immediately.

“Just for that, I’m taking the rest of your chips,” they tell him, and he looks at his plate, now half empty, in confusion. He blinks at it once, twice, and then pushes it toward Shay.

“I really didn’t mean to—” he starts, and Shay waves him off.

“If I couldn’t handle people knowing things I didn’t tell them, growing up here would have been a hell of a lot harder. It’s fine. You’re only going to go deeper from here, though. Just know it’s something you’re gonna need to watch out for.”

“R-right. Can I ask another question?”

“He learns!” they laugh. “Hit me.”

“You said you go places where tragedy is going to strike. How do you know? You’re not Beholding.”

There’s significantly less compulsion in this one, and Shay actually has to consider how to explain.

“Hmm… You know much about physics?”

“Not… really?”

“Alright. Well, in physics, everything has what’s called ‘potential energy’. It’s basically the amount of energy something _could_ have, based on where it is in relation to other things. A ball on the ground has less potential energy than one suspended a couple meters in the air. In a way, I can feel the potential destruction of any given place. I can tell when a city is teetering on the edge of an earthquake or when that tropical storm headed for an island is likely to become a hurricane. I can also tell when all it would take is a nudge from me for a situation to be catastrophic, but… well, I’ve been there. It’s… terrifying and empowering and addictive, and I’d really rather not go there again.”

“Huh…” Ethan says, brow furrowed and staring absently at the plate again.

“… Is that it?” they ask. “Just ‘huh’?”

“Oh. No, it’s— it’s fascinating. I just… Can you tell the difference between potential natural destruction and potential _super_ natural destruction?”

“… Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“We should test it!” Ethan actually pulls back at that, and they can almost see his fear of their parents flashing through his eyes.

“I… I’m not sure that’s a great idea?”

“Come on.” Shay grins. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr [here](https://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/615617374170791936/reverb-shay-tonner)


	7. Gossip, S1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Purrtato left a comment on Reverb](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23107795/comments/289311898) about how the whole thing must look to the non-archive employees. and I had to explore it.
> 
> For further installments of Gossip, please check out [the fic I moved them to](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989452)
> 
> So far this only covers chapters 1 & 2 of reverb. It's all in emails/chats. hopefully the formatting isn't too difficult to read.

**From:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** March 16, 2015 09:13  
**To:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Just stay home

I know you haven’t left yet, Cass. Don’t know why Bouchard hasn’t sent out a message to everyone yet, but the place is crawling with police and everyone is being interrogated on whether or not they’ve seen the archivist lady (Gertrude?) lately, so… that’s a thing. Probably don’t come in.

Hannah

-

**From:** e.bouchard@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** March 16, 2015 10:00  
**Subject:** Recent developments

As I’m sure most of you have heard, there is a police investigation currently ongoing within the Institute. Due to this, the Institute will remain closed today. Some of you may be contacted directly and asked to come in to assist in the investigation. I ask that everyone not contacted please return or remain home. The Institute will reopen at midday tomorrow.

You may see police within the Institute throughout this week. We are attempting to cooperate and assist in their investigation however we can, so please answer any questions they ask you honestly and to the best of your ability.

If anyone has any information regarding the whereabouts and/or disappearance of our dear colleague, Gertrude Robinson, please contact the police immediately.

Thank you for your cooperation,

Elias Bouchard  
Head of the Magnus Institute

-

**From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** March 16, 2015 10:06  
**To:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Re: Just stay home

I just got the email?? WTF????

**From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** March 16, 2015 10:08  
**To:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Re: Just stay home

“DISAPPEARANCE”??????

**From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** March 16, 2015 10:09  
**To:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Re: Just stay home

Was she ABDUCTED FROM THE INSTITUTE?????

**From:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** March 16, 2015 10:16  
**To:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Just stay home

You know emails aren’t texts, right? Maybe finish a thought before you hit send?

Anyway, I haven’t gotten the full story yet, but from the sounds of it… yeah? Maybe? Someone mentioned blood? And I guess Rosie saw her leave last friday, but Martin mentioned she comes in on weekends sometimes.

Poor guy. I don’t know what he’s gonna do now. Come back to the library, maybe? The police are definitely going to lay into him…

**From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** March 16, 2015 10:20  
**To:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Just stay home

Bets he cries?

**From:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** March 16, 2015 10:21  
**To:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Just stay home

CASS! NO.

**From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** March 16, 2015 10:22  
**To:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Just stay home

Right. Sorry! Not on the work email.

I’ll send you a text.

—

_Cass W.  
_So?  
Did he cry?

 _Hannah K.  
_No, Cass. He didn’t cry.  
Also he’s not in the library anymore.  
Again.  
You know Jon Sims?

 _Cass W.  
_Damn  
Yhea, sure  
He’s in research. Kinda a dick. Stickler for procedure

 _H_ _annah K.  
_I guess he’s head archivist now?

 _Cass W.  
_WHAT???  
It’s been a week! Did Bouchard even have time to do interviews?!

 _Hannah K.  
_It doesn’t really sound like there were any interviews  
Martin went down to the dungeon to get some of his stuff this morning, since he’s supposed  
to be back in the library for a bit  
Except he came back an hour later to get his stuff _from_ the library, and said that jon sims  
is apparently head archivist now, so he’d be going back to the archives.  
I guess even Rosie doesn’t know what’s going on.

 _Cass W.  
_Are you serious????  
Hold on  
  


-

 _  
Cass W.  
_Hey. what’s this about jon sims being head archivist???  
Gertrude’s only been missing for a week??

 _Quinn D.  
_Who told you that?  
Mr. Bouchard definitely hasn’t said anything about hiring or promoting anyone.

 _Cass W.  
_Hannah  
She said martin told her he was going back to the archives  
cause jon sims is apparently head archivist now.

 _Quinn D.  
_I have heard absolutely nothing about this.  
Has anyone talked to Rosie?

 _Cass W.  
_I guess martin did? She didn’t know anything either

 _Quinn D.  
_…  
Let me get back to you.  
  


-  
  


_Cass W.  
_Quinn?  
Quiiinn  
Quinnquinnquinn  
It’s been HOURS quinn  
I’m LEAVING quinn  
You can’t leave me hanging like this!!!

 _Quinn D.  
_Look  
I know we deal with some… strange things here.  
Some oddities in our work environment is to be expected.

 _Cass W.  
_Buuuuuuuuut?

 _Quinn D.  
_I went to Mr. Bouchard. Told him I heard he’d promoted Jonathan Sims to Head Archivist,  
but I hadn’t seen any of the corresponding paperwork? Was there a miscommunication  
or should I get a new contract worked up?

 _Cass W.  
_Aaaaaaaaand?

 _Quinn D.  
_And, if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was confused.  
He just kind of stared at me for like 10 seconds, and then said he still needed to  
“discuss it further with Jon” and he’ll get back to me tomorrow.

 _Cass W.  
_What does THAT mean?  
Did sims promote _himself???_

 _Quinn D.  
_I mean. He couldn’t have.  
That’s not how these things work.  
You can’t just _choose_ to take over an open position. There are processes for this.

 _Cass W.  
_Buuuuuut?

 _Quinn D.  
_But.  
I think he might’ve.  
  


-  
  


_Cass W.  
_Quinn got back to me last night  
says sims promoted himself

 _Hannah K.  
_Yeah.  
Martin didn’t _say_ that, but it was definitely implied

 _Cass W.  
_Wtf  
Did…  
Okay, not doing this on work chat

 _Hannah K.  
_Who are you and what have you done with Cass?

—

**From:** e.bouchard@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** March 24, 2015 15:30  
**Subject:** Congratulations

Given recent, unfortunate events, it’s my pleasure to provide some happier news.

While we all hope Gertrude is located safe and sound, we cannot put our lives or pursuits on hold. With that in mind, I am delighted to announce that Jonathan Sims, formerly a Researcher, has been promoted to Head Archivist.

Joining him as an Archival Assistant is Sasha James.

Please join me in congratulating them on this new step in their careers, and let us all do what we can to ease their transition.

Thank you,

Elias Bouchard  
Head of the Magnus Institute

—

**Idle speculation (chat)  
  
**

**Cass**  
Any more takers?

 **Farrah**  
I still say she faked her death

 **Andy**  
The woman was like a hundred years old  
Why would she need to fake her death?

 **Farrah**  
I don’t care how old she is. Did you ever TALK to her??  
There’s no way THAT woman is dying of natural causes

 **Andy**  
Obviously. You don’t lose that much blood and vanish naturally

 **Farrah**  
That’s not what i meant. I just mean, no human person could’ve killed Gertrude Robinson.

 **Cass**  
Okay but why tho

 **Farrah**  
To get away from Elias? Idk.

 **Quinn**  
…  
Make of it what you will, but I can tell you right now that, since gertrude became archivist?  
_One_ person has quit the archives voluntarily

 **Cass  
**What about that blond guy? A few years ago?  
Idr his name. Didn’t he quit?

 **Quinn**  
Not according to the paperwork

 **Trish  
**COOL. THAT’S NOT OMINOUS AT ALL.

 **Cass  
**Okay. I’ve got 5 for sims killing gertrude for her job  
3 for her faking her own death  
2 for bouchard killing her and appointing sims  
And another 2 for bouchard killing her and sims finding out and blackmailing his way  
into the position  
What about you, trish? Where’s your money?

 **Trish**  
Stashed away somewhere safe in case of emergency  
Along with my resignation letter

 **Hannah**  
That… seems a bit extreme.

 **Trish**  
FOR SOMEONE BEING KILLED &/OR ABDUCTED ON SITE?

 **Hannah**  
Okay, you have a point but…

 **Trish**  
Look, I don’t know if the new Head Archivist killed gertrude or not  
But I know that that thing is NOT Jonathan Sims

 **Cass**  
Wait WHAT??  
You think this is invasion of the body snatchers or something?

 **Andy**  
Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve heard of.

 **Quinn**  
Have I said lately how glad I am to not be a researcher?

 **Cass**  
Well, if he’s not sims, he certainly hasn’t had any issues getting sims’ credentials.  
Though, now that i think about it, maybe i should talk to sasha…

 **Trish**  
You think I’m joking but I’m not.  
Look, Jon’s an ass. He’s rude and arrogant and doesn’t play well with others. But mostly i think it’s  
because he never really learned how and is too proud to admit it.

But now? This… sims? He’s not rude. He’s fucking CREEPY.  
He STARES. And there is definitely something wrong with his eyes

And apparently he hates Tim, who was like the closest he had to a friend until a couple weeks ago  
And have you been in a room with him and elias at the same time since he took the position?  
There is SOMETHING going on there and it’s Terrifying

I have kids. I’m not about to go placing bets or poking my head where it doesn’t belong and end up like  
Gertrude. And I suggest you all do the same.

—

**From:** Rosie@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** June 8, 2015 11:53  
**To:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Recording software

Good Morning Cass,

You’re aware that we’ve recently made some procedural changes with regards to how we take statements. While written statements are still taken, we’re attempting to also get recordings whenever possible. Mr. Bouchard and the Archive staff feel having visitors provide their statements verbally provides an additional layer of information and meaning to the statements that is lost when we only receive text.

To ease this transition while the Archive staff is attempting to improve efficiency in other ways, I have been tasked with getting the initial recordings whenever possible.

Today marks the fourth time in as many weeks that I have been unable to accomplish this. As I believe I mentioned in a previous email, the software will occasionally, and without any warning, pick up nothing but garbled nonsense.

Is this an issue with the microphone? If not, is there anything that can be done? Mr. Sims is busy enough these days without having to take statements on tape and transcribe them by hand.

Thank you,

Rosie

**From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** June 8, 2015 12:41  
**To:** Rosie@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Re: Recording software

Hi Rosie,

As I have previously mentioned to you, the Archive staff, and Mr. Bouchard, this appears to be a random issue in the code of the software. I have contacted not only their support line, but have even exchanged emails with one of the programmers. There is no clear explanation for why this happens, or why it happens to us with such frequency, and thus no way to prevent it from happening.

I have provided Mr. Bouchard with a list of affordable alternative programs, all with stellar reviews. If this continues to be such an issue, I recommend bringing it up with him.

Best,

Cass

-

  
**From:** s.james@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** August 25, 2015 16:22  
**To:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk **  
Subject:** Sorry for the headache

Hey Cass,

I know you’ve been trying to figure out these recording issues for a long time. I just wanted to let you know, we’ve got a system worked out now (and maybe an inkling as to the underlying issue). If Rosie or anyone else complains to you again, feel free to forward it on to me.

Thanks for not strangling anyone with an ethernet cable. ;)

-Sasha

**From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** August 26, 2015 09:27  
**To:** s.james@tmilondon.co.uk **  
Subject:** Re: Sorry for the headache

An “inkling” you say. Care to share with the class?

**From:** s.james@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** August 26, 2015 10:02  
**To:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk **  
Subject:** Re: Re: Sorry for the headache

I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.

**From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** August 26, 2015 10:05  
**To:** s.james@tmilondon.co.uk **  
Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Sorry for the headache

At this point? I’ll take that deal.

—

**Idle Speculation (chat)  
  
**

**Andy**  
I get the purpose in getting recordings of the statements. Though i do kinda feel like if you have to  
put it on CASSETTE, you might as well just have them write it down.  
But it kinda makes things creepier.

 **Tim**  
Things get creepier the closer they are in proximity to “The Archivist” these days.  
It’s just a fact of life now.

 **Cass**  
“The Archivist”??

 **Tim**  
Apparently it’s a thing. He introduces himself as “Jonathan Sims, the Archivist”

 **Cass**  
That’s…. Weird??  
It’s not just me, right?  
That’s weird?

 **Tim**  
Like I said.

 **Andy**  
Okay. you’re not wrong. But i meant, like… hearing them? I dunno. I guess it makes them more  
memorable or something  
Makes it freakier when you find out they died.

 **Hannah**  
GREAT. NEW SUBJECT PLEASE.

—

_Cass W.  
_Anyone else been noticing these weird silver worms around recently?

 _Sonja J.  
_I’ve seen a couple, but as long as they don’t get into artefact storage, i Don’t Care.  
  


_Quinn D.  
_YES. They’re _so gross_.  
  


_Andy W.  
_More important question:  
WAS THAT MELANIE KING I SAW LEAVING EARLIER TODAY???

 _Cass W.  
_Who?  
Wait.  
Melanie King?  
Like Ghost Hunt UK Melanie King??

 _Andy W.  
_YES THAT MELANIE KING  
  


_Hannah K.  
__What?!_  
Where? When? _Why?  
  
_

_Farrah B_.  
I thought she looked familiar!  
I saw Sasha taking her down to the Archives

 _Cass W.  
_TIM??

 _Tim S.  
_On it.  
“Sasha J. : Yes, that was Melanie. No I didn’t get her autograph. No, I didn’t ask her when  
the new season would start. We had a great conversation about haunted pubs.  
Jon had her write her statement. And then she went on her way. And no,  
I can’t tell you what her statement was about. Jon promised her he’d look into it personally.

Tim S. : _write_ her statement? Not record?

Sasha J. : we ran out of tapes. Should be getting more in soon. Tomorrow, hopefully. J  
on gets all twitchy when we get low on supplies.”  
For the record? That bit about running out of tapes is total bs. I don’t know if any of you  
have been down there lately, but i don’t think i’d have guessed there were that many  
cassettes left in London.  
  


_Farrah B.  
_I definitely haven’t gotten any requisitions for them.

 _Cass W.  
_Seems like a weird thing to lie about. But as long as they don’t start complaining about the recording  
software again, I don’t really care.  
Anyway. Worms?

—

**From:** e.bouchard@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** June 24, 2016 08:51  
**Subject:** Pest control

Good morning,

Several complaints have been placed lately about the appearance of silver worms around the Institute. An exterminator has been consulted, and while there is no reason to believe there is any true infestation, we will still be having the building fumigated this weekend. Should any of you feel the desire to work overtime in the next few days, I suggest you reconsider.

The building will reopen as usual on Monday morning.

Thank you for your cooperation,

Elias Bouchard  
Head of the Magnus Institute

**From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** June 27, 2016 11:26  
**To:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Fw: Pest control

If the disgusting goo on the bottom of my boot is anything to go by. I don’t think it worked.

**-**

**  
From:** Rosie@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** July 18, 2016 09:33  
**Subject:** Fire alarms

Good morning everyone!

As you all know, our fire suppression system was upgraded this past weekend. Due to this, multiple tests will be done throughout the day. We’ve been asked to treat all tests as if they were real alarms, which means evacuating the building each time. Please do not continue your work while the alarm is sounding.

Thank you for your cooperation,

Rosie

**From:** a.walsh@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** July 18, 2016 13:49  
**To:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk; t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk; q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk; f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk; s.jorstad@tmilondon.co.uk;  
**Subject:** anyone else notice

None of the archive staff have evacuated during _any_ of these tests?

**From:** s.jorstad@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** July 18, 2016 14:07  
**To:** a.walsh@tmilondon.co.uk; c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk; t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk; q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk; f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk;  
**Subject:** Re: anyone else notice

Neither have I?

There’s something weird about this table. Like there’s a pattern I can’t quite figure out…

—

**From:** e.bouchard@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** July 21, 2016 21:51  
**Subject:** Closure tomorrow

Good Evening,

As many of you are aware, after the sudden evacuation earlier this evening, there has been something of an incident within the Institute Archives.

The police and ECDC have asked that we keep the building clear tomorrow and through the weekend while they gather evidence and ensure it is safe for us to return. Should they still be on site come Monday, or if they contact you directly, I once again urge you to assist the authorities to the best of your ability.

I will see you all back to work Monday and provide a more extensive explanation at that time.

Thank you for your cooperation,

Elias Bouchard  
Head of the Magnus Institute  
  


-  
  


**Idle Speculation (chat)  
  
**

**Cass**  
Wtaf?

 **Hannah**  
Don’t look at me. Everything was quiet when i left.

 **  
Sonja**  
The fire alarm went off again, but really. I’m glad I actually decided to evacuate this time.  
No clue about the archives though.  
Also, has anyone heard from Andy?

 **Cass**  
There was definitely NOT a fire.  
I might have left a bit slow, i didn’t want to leave without my laptop. But when i did,  
sasha ran by me with a fire extinguisher? AWAY from the archives?  
And there WERE WORMS EVERYWHERE???

 **Quinn**  
Tim?

 **  
Tim**  
What?

 **  
Quinn**  
Anything to add?

 **  
Tim**  
Why would I?

 **Cass**  
Oh, i don’t know. Maybe because you’re sweet on sasha and talk to her ALL THE TIME??

 **Tim**  
Yeah, well, I don’t.

 **Cass**  
Whoa. everything alright there mate?

 **Farrah**  
Not to alarm anyone  
But i… might have stayed behind to see what was going on  
And i couldn’t get close once the ECDC got there, but  
1) i heard someone mention Jane Prentiss  
2) i definitely saw people carrying out bags of worms?  
And  
3) APPARENTLY GERTRUDE’S BEEN DEAD AND HIDDEN IN THE INSTITUTE THIS WHOLE TIME????

 **  
Quinn  
**WHAT?

 **Cass**  
WUT????!!!?!?!11?

 **Hannah**  
You’re fucking with us, right?

 **  
Tim**  
DAMMIT. I’M CALLING SASHA. I DON’T CARE IF SHE’S “TIRED” AND WANTS TO TALK LATER.  
WE’RE FUCKING TALKING NOW.

 **Cass**  
Wait, does this mean sims did it?

 **Trish**  
That’s it. I’m done.  
I hope you all have nice, long, happy lives, but I don’t think anyone is going to find that here.  
I don’t know what the hell is going on in the archives, but i’m not willing to risk my life  
on the chance it stays there.  
I won’t be coming back. Quinn, please send me my things next week. And unless you’re all  
planning to leave that place, then i wish you luck, lose my contact information.

 **  
Quinn**  
That… okay. I guess. I’ll… take care of the paperwork monday.

 **  
Sonja**  
Okay, seriously, has anyone heard from Andy??

—

_Cass W.  
_Hey, I haven’t seen Sasha around. Is everything okay?

 _Tim S.  
_Mandatory leave for the Archives this week.

 _Cass W.  
_I thought I saw “the Archivist” tho

 _Tim S.  
_Well, how is he going to make sure all the evidence is hidden if he doesn’t come in?

 _Cass W.  
_Hey. Er. I’m not saying you’re wrong, but  
Maybe don’t say things like that on the work chat?  
Not all IT is as chill as me.

 _Tim S.  
_Fair enough

 _Cass W.  
_Oh right. Have you seen Andy around? They haven’t responded to any messages

 _Tim S.  
_Yeah, apparently they’re having some technical difficulties.  
I figure they’ve probably got worms in their computer, but for some reason they don’t want to check.

 _Cass W.  
_LE SIGH  
Alright. Have them bring it to me.  
Dunno what i’m going to do if there really are worms, though.

 _Tim S._  
Chuck them down the Archive steps?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to put this on tumblr, but i don't think the formatting is going to work.


	8. Nessie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been plotting this since chapter 3. Sasha asked if the Loch Ness monster existed and Jon said "not technically" and walked away all smug.
> 
> Additional warnings for this chapter: fear of drowning

“L-look, I know you’ve probably got like a million statements about it, but I _swear_ , I—”

“Mister Ziegler, please, if you—”

“I _saw_ it! I—”

“Yes, Mr. Ziegler, but I cannot look into your statement if you don’t allow me to _take it_.” Jon’s trying so hard not to snap, but this feels a bit too much like he’s back in his first year as Head Archivist. His _actual_ first year.

“R-right. Right, of course.”

“Now, if you’ll just have a seat?” The man drops into the spare chair in Jon’s office, shaky. A recorder clicks on. “Alright. Statement of K…” Jon stops himself before the name actually gets out. Full introductions haven’t been done.

“Uh… Um, Kyle. Kyle Ziegler.”

“Statement of Kyle Ziegler, regarding a sighting of…”

“It- uh… well… Nessie.”

“... Right… Regarding a sighting of the Loch Ness Monster. Statement taken direct from subject, April 23rd, 2036. Statement begins.”

“Right, so. I think first I should say, I’m not actually a believer. Or… Well, I wasn’t. The whole cryptid thing is fun, but it’s not _real_. They’re modern-day mythical creatures. Real things being explained by people who didn’t quite understand what they were seeing to people who are trying to picture the thing from a disjointed narrative. Is it a yeti or a bear? Almost always, it’s a bear.

“But my brother, Cameron, he’s real big into all of it. Has been since he was like 6, when he says he saw a tatzelwurm when we were visiting cousins in Germany. Everyone else in our family kind of laughed at him for it, but, like I said, it’s fun to think about, even if I don’t believe. So every summer we schedule a couple weeks that we both take off work, and we go explore an area that’s had a cryptid sighting.

“We’ve been doing this for just over a decade, so you’d think we’d have been to Loch Ness by now, but it’s so well known, we didn’t want to go and have to deal with all the tourists. The ‘casual’ believers, as Cam puts it. And things usually ended up booked in the summer. But with those freak tornadoes a couple weeks ago, I guess people were a little more reluctant to make the trip, and we got a good deal.

“The first couple days of every trip we spend scouting the area. Mapping where sightings have been; what areas people are less likely to go, and more likely for a cryptid to be able to hide. It might be my favorite part of the whole thing. We spend hours talking about what sort of creature it is, what it might eat, where it might get that sort of food. What sorts of camouflage or defenses it might have. All sorts of speculation. It’s just _fun_. 

“It also involves a lot of hiking in places that are not easy to hike in. The point is that people _don’t_ go there, after all. Day three we rest, which I get more and more thankful for the older I get. We sit around and eat too much and make a plan of attack. 

“We were in this little restaurant that looks out on the lake, laughing about I don’t even know what, when I saw it for the first time. It was distant, hazy. It caught my eye, but it was pretty easy to wave off as a trick of the light or something. When Cam looked he didn’t seem to see anything, so I told him I just got lost in thought. 

“Day four we rented a boat. We figured start in the middle and sort of spiral our way out, as much as you can with a lake that’s so much longer than it is wide. A boat for the deeper water, then switch to kayaks for the shallower waters around the edge. It’s a very, very big lake, so we’d spend the rest of the first week in the same inn, renting the boat each day. We have our own kayaks, so after that we’d make as much progress as we comfortably could each day and then find the closest inn or hostel wherever we ended. 

“I… might have seen it on day four. It was in the distance, again, and gone when I pointed it out to Cam. I wrote it off, like the day before. But day five it was closer. It was still hazy, a dark blur, almost exactly like it looks in those supposed photos, but there was definitely _something_ there. Cam never saw it, and it didn’t seem like it was following us or anything. It just popped up, just too far to clearly see, a couple times. 

“I still didn’t think it was _Nessie_. Something man-made, maybe. Or my mind playing tricks on me. When your brain doesn’t process what you see, it does its best to fill in the gaps. You see what you _expect_ to see. And while I didn’t actually expect to see Nessie, it was what was on my mind.

“Day six, I didn’t see it at all. Day seven and eight, just flashes. A dark object in my peripheral vision, gone when I looked straight on. By the start of day nine, we’d done a few laps in the boat and made it about a quarter of the way along the shoreline by kayak. And then I saw it. Like, _really_ saw it, for the first time. Not well enough to identify it for sure, but I could tell it was something large and alive. It moved and dove. It seemed like the pictures, like a head atop a long, snaking neck. And it was _definitely_ following us. 

“Still Cam never saw it. It disappeared any time I tried to get his attention. It didn’t matter if I yelled ‘look over there!’, or only made a subtle hand-gesture behind my back. Somehow it _knew_ , and it would always dive. I’ll admit I was going a bit spare at that point. I kept running into rocks and nearly beaching myself because I couldn’t stop staring back, watching as it moved, trying to tell if it was actually getting a bit closer every time it dove and resurfaced or if that was my mind playing tricks on me as well.

“Cam asked me that night why I hadn’t tried to take a picture of it, and I felt like an idiot. We got those special water cameras for a reason. I’d been so caught up, I hadn’t even thought of it. Though, now that I did think of it, I was sure the thing would be able to tell when the camera was pointed toward it, same as when Cameron looked.

“The morning of day ten was rainy, but the forecast said it would clear up later in the day. So we let ourselves rest a bit. Hydrated. Once it seemed like the rain had truly stopped, sometime in the early afternoon, we set out, and it all seemed to be going well. It was still overcast, but there were hints of the sun and not a single sign of anything strange following us. 

“I wasn’t entirely convinced the whole thing had been in my head, but I definitely wasn’t convinced that it _wasn’t_. The longer the day went on without a glimpse, the more I realized how tense I’d been, anticipating seeing the thing again. 

“By all accounts, Nessie is harmless. No one claims to have been attacked, no mysterious drownings attributed to it. It’s called the Loch Ness monster, but no one’s telling horror stories about it. So, logically, I had nothing to worry about, even if it was Nessie. And yet something about it had been making me nervous. 

“Now I was finally starting to relax. I started taking pictures of the scenery just because it was a good view, not because I was trying to catch a fictional creature. I actually got some really good shots of some seals. But… I got distracted, and when I turned to talk to Cam, he wasn’t there. 

“It was a pretty deep area of the shoreline and there was a curve about a quarter-kilometer ahead. It didn’t seem like he should’ve been able to get that far in the time I was looking away, but maybe I’d gotten more distracted than I thought. I yelled out for him, but if I couldn’t see him, it was doubtful he’d hear me. I tucked the camera away, and grabbed the paddle, but as I did, the clouds parted, and I caught the flash of a shadow beneath me. 

“I couldn’t breathe. I knew, I just _knew_ , that it was right below me. I froze, caught between pulling the camera back out and grabbing the paddle and getting out of there, to shallower waters, as fast as I could. Like I said, there was no reason for me to think it would attack, but I was _sure_ it would. I started seeing more flashes, and then a large shadow, swimming around me. Circling, like a shark. Now and then, part of it would break the surface, and it looked… it looked like a seal’s coat would, if seals had the coloring of a raven. Mostly black, but shifting dark, shiny blue and green and purple in the light. 

“It was waiting, I think, for me to make a move. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I waited until it was as far as it seemed like it would get, and then I grabbed the paddle and moved as fast as I could toward that curve, yelling for Cam the whole while.

“It bumped the kayak, and I felt the paddle brush against something solid but giving, like flesh. I had no hopes of outrunning it, but maybe it was just toying with me. Maybe it would leave off if I could just get somewhere too shallow for it to swim. No matter how far I moved, though, it seemed like I couldn’t get any closer to the bend ahead. I yelled for Cam again, and there was this… this sound. This reverberation. I couldn’t so much hear it as I felt the vibrations in the water through the kayak.

“I wasn’t going to get away, so I changed tactics. I set down the paddle and grabbed the camera. And then it was gone. Just… disappeared without a trace. Even the ripples from its occasional surfacing were gone. I wrapped the strap of the camera around my wrist and paddled as fast as I could with it swinging and getting in the way. I was sure if I actually put it down, that thing would be back. 

“I yelled for Cam again just as I reached the curve and finally heard him call back. I nearly cried. But I breathed that sigh of relief a moment too soon. Just before I rounded the bend, something rammed into my kayak from underneath, and I capsized. 

“I was underwater so fast I didn’t even have time to take a breath, and then it was like the surface disappeared. I’ve never really been one of those people who can keep their eyes open underwater but I tried. I tried to look for the light of the sun, to swim toward it, but it was like it was coming from all directions, or none, at once. Every time I swam one way, it felt like I was going deeper, so I’d switch directions and still be going deeper. 

“I was almost resigned to drowning, and then I felt something grab my leg. Like teeth sinking in, and I was being pulled. Deeper, it felt, like before, like the surface didn’t exist anymore. I tried to feel for the jaws clamped around my leg, but it… it felt more like claws. And when I tried to get free, that long neck swatted at me, except it seemed more like… like a tentacle, or a tail. 

“Finally I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. I figured up was probably the direction opposite where I was being pulled, so I reached up. I don’t know why. I was so oxygen-deprived… it made sense to me at the time.

“And then a hand grabbed mine and the things dug into my leg were gone and I was breaching the surface of the water. Cam helped me back into my kayak and towed me to shore, to the beach just around that curve I’d been trying so hard to reach. 

“He didn’t see the thing that tipped me. Still, after everything. He said I’d been distracted in rocky waters; that it seemed like I’d hit a rock and lost balance. There must have been some kind of plant or something that I got tangled in. He said it all so reasonably and never once seemed to believe me. Like suddenly he was the skeptic, and I was the one always trying to chase aliens.

“You’d think that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t. Every time I looked out at the water, I could see it there in the distance. It stopped disappearing when Cam looked, but he still couldn’t see it. I refused to get back in the kayak. Our mobiles had no signal, and my leg was still torn-up and bleeding, but I refused to be left behind, so he had to support me as we hobbled our way to the nearest town. We spent a good while in the closest A&E, getting stitches in my leg. 

“I saw it out in the lake before I went to bed that night, and I saw it out in the lake when I woke up the next morning. I told Cam I wanted to leave, and with my leg and all he didn’t argue. I watched that thing in the lake until I couldn’t, but right before it left my view, I _swear_ it waved at me.”

“… Statement ends,” Jon says, already fighting the urge to sigh and rub at his eyes. “Is your leg alright?”

“It still hurts. They’re more like scratches than bite marks. The doctor said it looked like I’d been caught by a giant cat.” Kyle pulls up his pant leg and unwinds a bandage just enough to show the lowest of the wounds. It does indeed look more like a deep scratch than a bite. “But he thinks it should heal just fine with no lasting damage.” 

“Good… good. Do you think you could mark on a map where you were when you capsized?”

“Yeah, I actually brought the coordinates with me…” He hesitates. “There… there is one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“When I was underwater, I guess I accidentally managed to take some pictures. Most are blurry and of my arm or body, but there’s one that got my leg. The one that was caught. But it’s… well, there’s no way that’s what was actually there. It’s impossible. I brought a copy, you can keep it.”

“Thank you. Obviously I can’t promise to prove something that no one else has been able to in over a hundred years, but we _will_ look into it. If you leave your contact information with the front desk, we’ll let you know if we find anything.”

Shay is sitting on a desk in the main archive and quickly offers to show Kyle out while very determinedly avoiding meeting Jon’s gaze. There’s a conversation to be had there, but Jon knows Shay isn’t really the one to blame. With a sigh he returns to his office and knocks on the wall beside his door, which is now a door as well. And then he sits and looks at the photo he was handed and finally gives into the urge to bury his face in his hands.

“Ooooh. It’s been a while since I’ve seen _that_ face,” Sasha says. “What have I done right, now?”

“The Loch Ness monster, Sasha? Really?”

“It’s your fault.”

“How is this _my_ fault?”

“You had to be all mysterious and coy when I asked if it existed! ‘Not technically’ you said, and you walked away all smug. Well, now, _technically_ it does!”

“That was _twenty years ago!”_

“Was it really?” she asks, “That doesn’t sound right, but time is fake. Anyway, it required some preparation.”

“Don’t think we’re not talking about you using Shay in your plots.”

“Daisy knew.”

 _“Daisy…_ ” Jon sighs yet again. “Alright, fine. How about this: you told me you didn’t know where any of Patrząc’s kittens ended up.”

Sasha shrugs. “I lied. Will you believe me if I tell you that Nessie’s the only one I know about?”

“Not _now_ , I won’t!” Jon looks at the picture again and tries so very, very hard not to laugh.

“Oooh, is that the picture? How did it turn out? Is it good? Who am I kidding, of course it’s good. I made it. Can I see? Please?” Jon takes one last look at the image of a man’s leg, caught in the mouth of a giant, brightly-colored catfish, and poorly feigns reluctance as he hands it over.

Sasha’s laugh rings so well that Martin can hear it through his webs from the floor above. There’s the sense of a question, and then Jon can feel Martin’s laughter as well, as the image appears in his mind.

“That came out even better than I thought it would! Can I keep this? Can I?” Jon doesn’t even have to nod; she reads him too well. “Excellent! I’m getting this framed. It’s going up in my halls.” She immediately turns to her door, still staring proudly at the picture, and then seems to remember that they’re still in the middle of a conversation. “Sooooo?” 

“So, what?”

“Come on, Jon! You can pretend to be put out later. Just say it.”

Sometimes Jon resents that he can’t regret a single one of his choices. “Yes, alright, it was good. Very entertaining.” He tries to make it sound sarcastic, but there’s not really any point.

“Yes!” Sasha grins her too-wide grin and kisses him on the cheek, and then literally dances through her door with her prize.

There’s a meow at his feet, and then Patrząc is jumping up to lay across his shoulders, and he quickly closes the eye on his neck. Tattoo or not, cat hair in an eye is irritating.

“This is your fault, too,” he tells her. She grooms his hair in a way that feels like a pat on the head and purrs proudly. Which, really, is about what he expected. He scratches her ear in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also on [tumblr here](https://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/617754569405071360/nessie)


	9. Ch1 Bonus: Hill Top Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon on tumblr asked:   
> Started re-reading Reverb the other day and realised that the weekend Jon first arrived back in the past he mentioned that he had an appointment to keep (on Sunday). Was the meeting with Annabelle and how did things go down w/ the alliance/whatever happened after Jon left if he was meeting with her? How'd Annabelle take the news?

Jon stands in front of 105 Hill Top Road for a long time. Too long. The ache in his chest, the irregular beat of his heart, are a reminder of why this needs to happen. Why he needs to step up and knock on the door. He just… _really_ doesn’t want to. 

Another neighbor comes to their window to look out at him. The strange man who’s been standing on their street for however long, staring at an abandoned house. Some of them have already reached for their phones, fingers hovering over the 9 before deciding to wait just a little longer. 

“I can only hold them off so long,” Annabelle Cane says from the doorway. 

“You’re nowhere near your limit yet,” Jon responds. She laughs

“True, but I’m getting bored, and the Mother won’t let me speed things up the easy way. So. Coming?” With a sigh, Jon steps up and follows her through the door, through the web-ridden house, into the kitchen. Annabelle pours tea into two cups, adds just the right amount of sugar, gestures for him to take the seat in front of his. He takes the chair, but doesn’t touch the tea. Annabelle smirks. “It’s not poisoned.”

“I know.” He doesn’t say that he doesn’t want the first tea that he tastes in nearly half a year to be hers, made perfectly or not.

“I suppose you do. I’ll admit, I’m somewhat glad you took your time coming here. Our friend here brought us a lot of information.” She gestures toward his cup, where a familiar spider is now crawling up the handle. Jon barely resists the urge to recoil; he _had_ been expecting it, but… “The Mother has been pulling strings in the Institute for a very long time, and suddenly everything we’ve been working toward has been turned on its head. I suppose pushing you to the Institute, putting you under Elias’s gaze, still worked for us in a way.”

She takes a sip of her own tea. Perfectly composed. And Jon can’t read her mind. He’d never even been able to locate her, in the future, but he can still See, Hear, Know. The slight hesitation in her voice, the way her long fingers occasionally tap against the cup, the way she keeps looking him over. She’s shaken. 

“I don’t like the thought of not having a choice,” he tells her. “But if that’s the price, I’d rather be a willing pawn than an unwitting one. I want to know what I’m being used for.”

“Seems to me like you mean to be the one doing the using.”

“I…”

“That’s not a criticism, Jon. It’s a good start. You’re meant to be one of us, now, but you’ve a long way to go if you’re ever truly going to belong.” 

“What if I don’t want to truly belong?”

“Then you lose the protection the Mother has offered you. That our friend here came four years back in time to provide you. You become what you are trying so desperately not to become, and hope there is enough left to continue pursuing your goal. To save the world, such as it is. And we return to our previous goal. The Mother may not technically have ruled over that world, but it was near enough as to make little difference.” 

There’s something strained in her voice.

“You saw it,” Jon realizes. “Martin’s spider, it gave you memories.”

“Not… as such. Impressions, maybe. It seems… depressingly stagnant, for a world with such potential.”

“It frightens you.” She takes another, measured sip.

“From what I understand, _you_ are responsible for the impressions she brought. Was Fear not the point? It sends a message, doesn’t it? Better than almost anything. The language Fear speaks, the involuntary physical reactions it inflicts on us, we remember that, long after all the details have faded.”

Jon opens his mouth to argue that he had no hand in whatever Martin’s spider shared upon crawling through the rift in the basement of Hill Top Road, and then, for once, thinks better of it.

“So what now?” he asks instead. “What are the terms? How will this work?”

“We will maintain our presence at the Institute,” Annabelle says, sitting just a touch straighter than before, composing herself, though she never truly allowed herself to be uncomposed. “Though it will largely be at your direction now, rather than mine. You will, of course, allow our spiders to remain in the Archives, and not allow any harm to come to them if you can help it. Our friend has volunteered to stay with you-”

“’Volunteered’” Jon can’t help but be mildly incredulous and darkly amused at hearing Annabelle Cane use that word.

“Jon,” she admonishes. “We do not scoff at volunteers. Please take this to heart: people are always easier to conduct when they believe they chose to dance.”

It still sits ill with Jon, but he’s distracted by a sharp pain in his hand, courtesy of the spider itself. It isn’t audible, but he can feel it chiding him too. He barely manages to keep himself from swiping it away.

“So free rein of the institute and a grip on my heart. Anything else?”

“The Mother doesn’t need a grip on your heart to puppet you. That bit is for your gain, and I believe it’s something you’ve already agreed to. We will be there, to watch and assist, however we might. And in return you let the Mother know whatever you might Know. You do not try to hide anything from her. You do not try to work against her. And if one of us comes to you, asking you to Know something for them, you do your best to Know it.” 

Annabelle had always seemed like one of the most untouchable of the Avatars. Looking over the chessboard and watching them move as she willed, or at least making it seem like that’s what she was doing. She’s taller than him, more confident, more put together. Right now, though, she’s just a messenger, and she seems almost young. Jon has to wonder if it isn’t just an act, meant to make him feel more in control, more easily satisfied by the terms. Making him think he chose to dance.

He _did_ choose to dance, though. The alternative was unthinkable, but it was still his choice, and he’s going to see this through, no matter what it costs him.

“Alright,” he agrees.

“Wonderful,” Annabelle smiles, and there’s something so disarming and something so menacing about it all at once. “Now, would you rather our friend dig her way to your heart from the inside, or should we cut her a path from out?”

-

Walking away some time later, with fresh pain stabbing through his chest, part of Jon still clings to Hill Top Road. In sight that isn’t sight, through eyes that aren’t his own, he sees Annabelle deflate, just slightly, walk back to the kitchen and drain his cup of tea. She takes a shaky breath, and then looks, somehow, right at him, and smirks. And he can’t tell which part of that was real, and which was meant just to alter his view of her. 

Maybe all of it. Maybe none. He supposes it hardly matters, and as he makes his way back to his flat, he takes comfort in the idea that if he can just do things right, he’ll never have to go back to Hill Top Road again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr [here](https://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/620313962653827072/started-re-reading-reverb-the-other-day-and)


	10. Gossip, S2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For further installments of Gossip, please check out the [fic I moved them to](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989452)
> 
> Cass & co are back! Outside POV of reverb again  
> Covers chapters 3 & 4 of reverb, essentially s2 in canon. Once again, it's all in emails/chats. no one complained about the formatting last time, so hopefully it still isn't too difficult to read.

**From:** t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** August 18, 2016 13:49  
**To:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk; h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk; q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk; f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk; s.jorstad@tmilondon.co.uk;  
**Subject:** Fw: New Policies

Guess who’s got archive duties for the rest of forever. Yay.

> **From:** s.lent@tmilondon.co.uk **  
> Sent:** August 18, 2016 11:31 **  
> To:** research@tmilondon.co.uk **  
> Subject:** New Policies
> 
> Everyone,
> 
> After speaking with the leads, and with several of you, we have decided to make a few changes as to how we handle transfer of statements.
> 
> Where before we would take stale files to the archive once a week, we will now be compiling them to review and deliver once a month. This will hopefully prevent any statements from being archived before they have been fully researched, provide a sort of “buffer” period for new leads to arise, and overall be more efficient.
> 
> A reminder: no statements should be sent to the archive unless they have been without new information or leads for a minimum of one year. Not one month, not three, not half a year. One, full calendar year. The death of a statement-giver does not exempt us from our responsibility to investigate.
> 
> If you have any questions, or would like to volunteer to make archive deliveries, please let me know.
> 
> \- Sandra

**From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** August 18, 2016 14:22  
**To:** t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk; h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk; q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk; f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk; s.jorstad@tmilondon.co.uk;  
**Subject:** Re: Fw: New Policies

Don’t try to pretend you didn’t volunteer. Like you’re not going to be down there chatting up Sasha three times a week anyway. Sandra might as well have just left the policy like it was.

**From:** t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** August 18, 2016 14:57  
**To:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk; h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk; q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk; f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk; s.jorstad@tmilondon.co.uk;  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Fw: New Policies

Fuck off cass.

Anyway, i’ve been instructed to steer clear while the fuzz are still trying to pin sims for old lady robinson’s murder

**From:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** August 18, 2016 14:59  
**To:** t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk; c.walters@tmilondon; q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk; f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk; s.jorstad@tmilondon.co.uk;  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Fw: New Policies

So only twice a week?

**From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** August 18, 2016 15:00  
**To:** t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk; h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk; q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk; f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk; s.jorstad@tmilondon.co.uk;  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Fw: New Policies

So only twice a week, then.

BTW, I noticed you didn’t include Andy on this thread. They’re not still having computer issues are they?

**From:** t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** August 18, 2016 15:14  
**To:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk; h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk; q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk; f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk; s.jorstad@tmilondon.co.uk;  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Fw: New Policies

Hannah: you’ve been spending way too much time with Cass.

Cass: _fuck off_. Also: yeah. Still having some login issues, I guess? I think they’ve given up.  
  


-

 **  
From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** August 18, 2016 15:20  
**To:** t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** UGH

I’m THIS CLOSE to taking a sledgehammer to that thing and having Andy requisition a new computer.

Can you have them call me or something? I’m going to delete their account and create a new one, and I need to make sure I’m not going to be erasing any important files while I’m at it.

  
—

 _  
.Perry T_  
.Hey, thanks again for all your help this week

 _Cass W._  
Perry, my new friend, thank _you_.  
I don’t think anyone has listened to me so attentively  
Or caught on so quickly… _ever._ And i’m not exaggerating when I  
say I mean that literally.

 _.Perry T_  
Ha, well, I learned at my last job  
.it’s a bad idea to piss off IT

 _Cass W._  
Trust me, that puts you waaaay ahead of the curve  
Some people never learn.

 _.Perry T_  
I did have a non-IT question  
If you don’t mind  
I could ask someone else, but  
You said you’d been here for a while, and i just haven’t really  
talked to anyone else much yet

 _Cass W._  
Sure thing. Hit me

 _.Perry T_  
?Is it… _normal_ for the police to be here so often  
I saw them when I came for my interview  
And now I saw one of them again today, headed for the archives

 _Cass W._  
Ah.  
Hmm  
Short version? No, but as long as you don’t start hanging out in  
the archives, don’t worry about it

 _.Perry T_  
?Ooookay  
?And the long version

 _Cass W._  
…  
you use FB much?

  
—  
  


**Idle Speculation (chat)  
  
**

**Cass** has added **Perry** to the group  
  


**Cass**  
Everyone, if you haven’t already, please meet my new  
BFF, perry  
He’s the new researcher, since Trish left

 **Tim**  
Hey Perry  
Congrats on making it into the cool kids club

 **Quinn**  
Hi Perry. We met briefly during your orientation.  
My condolences

 **Perry**  
Hi everyone. thanks.  
Uh, condolences for what?

 **Quinn**  
It seems you’ve been adopted by Cass  
There’s no escape now.

 **Cass**  
.Oh piss off quinn. You all love me

 **Hannah**  
CASSANDRA JUDITH XENA WALTERS

 **Cass**  
Not even close

 **Hannah**  
You’re REPLACING me?!

 **Cass**  
I mean  
Perry’s never gotten my name wrong

 **Tim**  
Don’t hold that against him. He’s still new.

 **Perry**  
And totally lost

 **Farrah**  
Hi Perry.  
No one knows Cass’s full name. She managed to erase it  
from the system entirely

 **Quinn**  
AND somehow redacted it from all paperwork

 **Hannah**  
But we know she’s got two middle names  
And they start with J and X

 **Tim**  
IF she’s telling the truth

 **Cass**  
?Tim. Please. Would I lie to you

 **Tim**  
Is that a rhetorical question?

 **Quinn**  
Yes

 **Farrah**  
Cass, we HAVE met you

 **Hannah**  
You absolutely would and you’d laugh about it too

 **Cass**  
Ouch  
Lol  
Anyway, i didn’t invite Perry here just for you all to gang  
up on me

 **Sonja**  
Hi Perry  
Are we picking on Cass again? Am I too late?

 **Cass**  
.NOPE. We’re done picking on Cass  
I have gathered you all here for one, very important  
.reason

 **Farrah**  
Which is?

 **Cass**  
.Perry doesn’t know about The Archives

 **Tim**  
Oh shit

 **Quinn**  
Oooohhhhhhh

 **Sonja**  
Oh, not this again.  
You’re all ridiculous.

 **Hannah**  
You sure it’s not too soon to be having this conversation?

 **Perry**  
Whoa. alright, now i’m worried  
All i did was ask if it was normal for the police to be around  
so much?

 **Hannah**  
Short answer? No.

 **Perry**  
Just stay away from the archives. Yeah. that’s what Cass  
said.

 **Tim**  
I’m telling you Hannah. You’ve been around her too long.  
She’s catching

 **Farrah**  
SIGH.  
Alright. Do you know ANYTHING about the archives  
Or the archive staff?

 **Perry**  
Er. I met Martin? He seemed pretty nice?  
And a couple people have mentioned a woman whose  
name starts with S, and is apparently pretty helpful?

 **Cass**  
.Yeah. Sasha’s good people  
.I’ve never had to reset her password once

 **Tim**  
They’re both great. Usually.  
Nothing about The Archivist, though?

 **Sonja**  
Are we really doing that?  
Can’t we just call him Jon?  
There’s no proof of any of this. It’s not like he’s threatening  
anyone. He’s just…  
A little spooky.

 **Tim**  
Ha! Sonja, I will PAY YOU to say that to his face.  
Or even just in his hearing range. Not picky. I just want to  
see what his face does.

 **Farrah**  
I mean.  
If you believe Trish, then he’s NOT Jon, so

 **Sonja**  
You don’t actually believe that.

 **Tim**  
He’s sure as hell not the same Jon Sims who worked with  
me in research. You know he apparently had the balls to  
offer the police “assistance” going through evidence?  
And I still can’t get over the fact that he actually calls  
himself that.  
“The Archivist”  
Like he wasn’t pretentious enough

 **Hannah**  
More freaky than pretentious if you ask me.  
Have you ever actually heard him introduce himself?  
And the eyes. I really don’t know how you can stand going  
there so often, Tim.

 **Perry**  
Still lost. You make it sound like he’s a crime boss or  
something, lol

 **Quinn**  
I’m sure you’ve heard Gertrude mentioned once or twice by now?

 **Perry**  
Yes? I think?  
Old woman who died recently, right? And something was  
“freaky” about her death

 **Cass**  
.I mean. He’s not wrong

  
—

 _  
.Tim S_  
?Have any of you ever made a statement

  
—

**Tim Stoker**

**Tim**  
Cass  
Dear, lovely Cass  
Goddess of technology

 **Cass**  
Nope

 **Tim**  
I haven’t even said anything yet!

 **Cass**  
Flattery will get you nowhere Stoker

 **Tim**  
Not in my experience

 **Cass**  
You’d have better chances trying to get a date out of  
.Sasha again  
.I cannot be seduced

 **Tim**  
Low blow, cass

 **Cass**  
.I can, however, be bought  
.Let’s talk business  
What do you want, and what are you willing to give me for  
?it

 **Tim**  
You’ve got access to all sorts of personnel files and shit,  
right?

 **Cass**  
Maaaaaybe

 **Tim**  
Which would include, like, addresses and such

 **Cass**  
Tim  
Mate  
I adore you  
You know this  
But if you’re going to stalk a probable murderer, you’re  
.going to need to do it the old fashioned way  
.I’m not telling you where Sims lives

 **Tim**  
It’s like you don’t love me at all.

  
—

 **  
From:** e.bouchard@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** November 16, 2016 13:52  
**Subject:** Institute Policy  
**Attachment:** TMI_pol_2016.pdf

It has come to my attention that some areas of the Institute may need to familiarize themselves with our employee policies again. Please find a copy of these policies attached. Department heads will be verifying with each of you that you have reviewed them.

Most notable among these: Employee dress code is business casual, appearance should be professional; it is not appropriate to bring your pets to work; and schedules should be adhered to as much as possible, any necessary deviation should be reported to your direct superior as soon as possible.

Thank you for your cooperation,

Elias Bouchard  
Head of the Magnus Institute

  
-

 **  
From:** f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** November 16, 2016 14:31  
**To:** q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk; h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk; c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk; t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Fw: Institute Policy

Alright. One of you _has to_ know what this is about.

**From:** t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** November 16, 2016 14:36  
**To:** f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk; q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk; h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk; c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk;  
**Subject:** Re: Fw: Institute Policy

Archives got a cat. Pretty sure it’s a demon in disguise.

Unrelated: how do you tell if a scratch is infected?

**From:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** November 16, 2016 14:45  
**To:** t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk; f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk; q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk; c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk;  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Fw: Institute Policy

Is it red and swollen? How long ago were you scratched? Is there any pus? Make sure you wash it out well.

Not to be cynical or imply I think that’s appropriate or anything, but I doubt it’s just that. Passive aggressive emails don’t really seem like an effective way to chide Sims.

**From:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** November 16, 2016 14:57  
**To:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk; t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk; f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk; q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk;  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Fw: Institute Policy

Aww. Hannah. Look at you, being a mum already.

Adorableness aside: it’s because of the Archives alright, but I really don’t think it was aimed at them.

Keith, here in IT, will be “taking a couple days off to consider the value of his employment.” Idiot saw Sims in jeans and Sasha in a hoodie and thought he could wear a stained t-shirt under his jumper. As if normal rules apply to the Archives.

Anyway, Tim, not sure what your issue is. Pa… Patches? Idk. they named her something in polish and i could barely pronounce it let alone know how to spell it. But she is a perfect angel who has never done anything wrong in her life, and i’m pretty sure her purr cured my carpal tunnel.

**From:** q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** November 16, 2016 15:22  
**To:** c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk; h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk; t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk; f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk;  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Fw: Institute Policy

It would be… inappropriate for me to go into any details.

But I will say: he isn’t the only one who’s made a mistake like that.

…

Sims owns jeans?

  
—

 _  
.Hannah K_  
If any of you were thinking of coming by the library, I would  
.reconsider

 _.Farrah B_  
?Dare I ask why

 _.Hannah K_  
Diana’s on the warpath

 _.Perry T_  
?Ohgod. Why

 _.Hannah K_  
…Well

-  
  


**From:** h.kenway@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** December 13, 2016 12:36  
**To:** f.bahri@tmilondon.co.uk; c.walters@tmilondon.co.uk; p.tabbot@tmilondon.co.uk; q.dancy@tmilondon.co.uk; a.walsh@tmilondon.co.uk; t.stoker@tmilondon.co.uk; s.jorstad@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Subject:** Fw: Re: Proper Procedures

Cass: No. Betting.

> **From:** j.sims@tmilondon.co.uk  
>  **Sent:** December 13, 2016 12:04  
>  **To:** d.nelson@tmilondon.co.uk  
>  **CC:** library@tmilondon.co.uk; archive@tmilondon.co.uk  
>  **Subject:** Re: Proper Procedures
> 
> I have no time for your academic elitism, Diana. I sent Sasha with Miss King as a courtesy and a display of my confidence in her. Ghost Hunt UK may be trite and overproduced, but Melanie King has more fastidiousness, resourcefulness and credibility in her little finger than ⅔ of your staff combined.
> 
> I approved her access, and I expect her to receive it. I think you’ll find that’s well within the capabilities afforded me by my position, and any further griping I receive will be immediately discarded. Feel free to take the matter up with Elias.
> 
> Jonathan Sims  
>  Head Archivist  
>  Magnus Institute  
>    
>  -
> 
> **From:** d.nelson@tmilondon.co.uk  
>  **Sent:** December 13, 2016 12:02  
>  **To:** j.sims@tmilondon.co.uk  
>  **CC:** library@tmilondon.co.uk; archive@tmilondon.co.uk  
>  **Subject:** Proper Procedures
> 
> Mr. Sims,
> 
> As I am sure you are aware, our policies restrict access to our resources for a reason. There are many rare and delicate texts in our collection that members of the public do not know how to handle, or even how to use to their fullest potential.
> 
> Miss King’s request was denied for such reasons. You cannot simply wave your hand and overrule such decisions as you please. I hope you and your staff will bear this in mind in the future.
> 
> Diana Nelson  
>  Head Librarian  
>  Magnus Institute

  
-  
  


_Cass W.  
_!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!1  
WHAT?!?!!!  
OH  
MY  
GOD  
HANNAH  
HANNAH YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME  
YOU’VE HANDED ME THE BEST DAMN PUDDING I’LL EVER  
HAVE IN MY LIFE  
AND TOLD ME I CAN’T EAT IT  
WHY DO YOU WANT ME TO SUFFER HANNAH?

 _.Farrah B_  
.I am… in awe

 _.Perry T_  
.I… damn  
.It’s alright Cass  
She didn’t tell _me_ no betting

 _.Hannah K_  
.Perry, no

 _Cass W._  
YES!!  
I KNEW YOU WERE MY FAVORITE FOR A REASON

  
—

 _  
Cass W._  
Sasha  
I can’t believe this  
I thought we were friends.

 _.Sasha J_  
I was lulling you into a false sense of security  
So  
?What have I done

 _Cass W. _  
Melanie King

 _.Sasha J_  
.Lovely as she is, I definitely did not do Melanie King

 _Cass W._  
She was here  
Again  
And you said nothing.  
How could you let me down like this?

 _.Sasha J_  
.Clearly I’ve done this just to hurt you  
Since I _know_ you’ve seen the emails, I know you also know the  
.whole point was to get her library access  
.Which means she’ll be around again. Probably soon

 _Cass W._  
After all I’ve done  
You could at least get me her number

 _.Sasha J_  
"All you’ve done"  
?And what is that again  
Because I know you know that I’ve never needed tech support in  
.my life  
…Anyway  
Well, I’d say don’t tell anyone, but I have actually met you. And  
.really, if he didn’t want anyone to know, then he should’ve said so

 _Cass W._  
Sasha James! Are you trying to get back in my good graces with  
_gossip?_

 _.Sasha J_  
?You want it or not

 _Cass W._  
Sasha, you are the light of my life. The wind beneath my wings.  
Please, impart your knowledge upon me, that i may be enriched

 _.Sasha J_  
?Tim? Is that you

 _Cass W._  
LOL

 _.Sasha J_  
I just can’t figure out how you could have spent enough time with  
him to be talking like that when he’s so busy being paranoid about  
.Jon

 _Cass W._  
Just trying to pick up the slack  
Soooooooo?

 _.Sasha J_  
Alright  
.Well  
…I think Melanie might be  
.Dating Jon’s ex  
…  
?Cass

 _Cass W._  
Jon’s _WHAT????_

  
—

**  
Idle Speculation (chat)**

**  
Sonja**  
Some days I’m proud to be one of the longest lasting  
practical researchers in Artefact Storage.  
Others, I wonder what on earth i’m still doing here.  
This place is going to drive me insane.

 **Perry  
**Are you alright?  
Also, side note: has anyone talked to Tim lately?

 **Quinn**  
I’ve been telling you. You need to take some time off.  
Honestly, I don’t know why there isn’t a hard limit on how  
long any one person can have that position.  
Whenever you’re ready to apply for a transfer, I promise,  
your request will make it to the top of the list as fast as I  
can pull up the forms.

 **Farrah**  
What happened?  
Do we need to call Andy to make you take a break?

 **Sonja**  
It’s nothing, really. Just  
One of the creepy instruments making music on its own.  
You know.  
The usual.  
I’ll be fine.

 **Cass**  
?You sure  
I’ve already got Andy’s number pulled up

 **Sonja**  
Yeah.  
Anyway. Andy and I aren’t really  
Talking  
Anymore.

 **Cass**  
?Sorry, WHAT  
?Do I need to kick their ass  
??Do I need to kick YOUR ass  
???Does someone’s ass need kicking

 **Hannah**  
Do you need to talk about it?

 **Sonja**  
It’s alright. Really.  
They met someone they really like, I guess. And they just  
don’t have as much time.  
They’d still come talk to me during lunch sometimes but  
I don’t know  
It was uncomfortable. Awkward. Like somehow we just  
forgot how to talk to each other, and now we’re two  
strangers pretending to be best friends.  
I guess… people change, right?

 **Perry**  
Damn.  
Not alright then.  
Do you need US to come make you take a break?

 **Sonja**  
No, i’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this all dramatic.  
It’s not big deal

 **Cass**  
.Well that’s a load of shite  
As if friend break-ups aren’t just as bad as romantic ones  
"Also, i wouldn’t exactly call this "dramatic

 **Perry**  
Alright. Not tonight, since we’ve all got to be back here tomorrow  
But friday, we’re all calling it an early day and going out for drinks  
Farrah, Hannah, I’m counting on you to make sure no one else leaves before they need help standing

 **Sonja**  
Oh don’t do that  
I’m fine

 **Farrah**  
I’m in.  
If only to see how many drinks it takes before Cass starts convincing innocent bystanders to believe in her conspiracy theories.

 **Hannah**  
Are we taking bets?  
Three before she starts ranting about them, five before anyone believes her

 **Quinn**  
4,6

 **Cass**  
Oh ye of little faith  
I’ll convince the bartender before my first sip

 **Sonja**  
Alright, fine. You’re all terrible

 **Perry**  
That’s why you love us.  
Now that that’s out of the way:  
Tim? Anyone talked to him?  
I’m getting kind of worried.

  
—

 **  
From:** e.bouchard@tmilondon.co.uk  
**Sent:** February 18, 2017 09:41  
**Subject:** Recent Events and Continued Police Investigation

Good Morning,

Yesterday evening, around 1800, there was an unfortunate altercation within the Artefact Storage and Archive departments of the Institute. It is not yet known what all occurred or who all was involved, but the police are currently looking for Jonathan Sims, our Head Archivist, as a suspect in the murder of an unknown man, roughly 65-75 years of age.

If you know anything about this man, the events of yesterday evening, or the whereabouts of Jonathan Sims, please contact the police immediately.

The Magnus Institute will be open for business Monday, but there will be no repercussions should you choose to call in.

Thank you for your cooperation,

Elias Bouchard  
Head of the Magnus Institute

  
-

**  
Idle Speculation (chat)**

**  
Perry**  
Am I still drunk?

 **Quinn**  
I can’t even be surprised anymore

 **Hannah**  
What?  
…  
Oh.

 **Sonja**  
Is it bad that I’m just pissed I’m probably going to have to  
clean up whatever they did in artefact storage?

 **Quinn**  
Say the word and I’ll have those transfer papers ready

 **Cass**  
Right  
?Bets


	11. Gossip

This is not a chapter in itself, but a note to let you know that, given how long it's gotten, the "Gossip" chapters have now been moved to their own fic. It's the next fic in the series, or you can just [click here to read it all](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989452/chapters/60503830). Chapter 3, covering chapters 5 through the start of 9 of The Reverb in These Holy Halls, has been added to it.


	12. Del

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The key to facing fear, Del's cousin says, is to be contrary. Figure out what’s behind it and get good at arguing. It doesn’t always work. When Fear says ‘you’re going to get hurt,’ you can’t just say ‘no, I won’t.’ You have to ask ‘will it be worth it?’ But it helps.
> 
> So when Del is eleven and a new kid comes to school, Fear yells ‘Danger.’ and Del looks at the distance everyone has put between them and this serious-looking kid with eyes like storm clouds, and at the extra sweets his mum had packed, and he thinks back ‘Yeah, but dangerous to who?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings for this chapter: mild homo/transphobia

Del knows fear. It’s not that there was anything in his life to cause that fear. It’s just that for as long as he can remember, there’s been a sense of wrongness in his life that he couldn’t identify. And without a source for that feeling, something to point to and say “That. That’s what’s wrong. That’s what scares me.” he’d just become afraid of everything.

Fight or flight, people say. That’s how humans respond to fear. Instinct. Even at six, when his dad says that instinct is broken in Del, Del thinks that’s dumb. People react to fear in all kinds of ways, and there are all kinds of fear that they react to differently. It’s not an either or.

We fear things because we don’t understand them, Del’s mum says. Like sharks. Or wolves. We see sharp teeth and we think “danger” because we don’t understand that the creature behind those teeth doesn’t mean us any harm. Fear is a misunderstanding. Del spends a lot of his childhood trying to understand everything, so maybe he can stop being scared. But understanding that the water isn’t trying to hurt you doesn’t make anyone less afraid of drowning.

It’s his cousin, Nel (short for Nelson, but Del always liked that, Del and Nel), eighteen and rebellious, that ends up helping the most. He takes Del out to the cinema and they meet his boyfriend there. Del likes Gavin, but his aunt and uncle don’t- something about “bad influences”- so they can only meet up other places. It’s after the film, as they’re walking out, that a couple guys seem to have an issue with how Nel and his boyfriend are holding hands. They say things Del knows are supposed to be mean, but Nel doesn’t get mad or scared. There’s no fight or flight. He just sighs and asks Gavin in a quiet voice to get the manager.

While he’s gone, Nel says nothing. Not until one starts getting in his face, yelling at him to say something. Then Nel sticks the hand that isn’t holding Del’s in his pocket and leans back almost casually.

“You hungry?” he asks. The guy just… stops.

“What?”

“We were planning to get something to eat. You can join us if you want.”

He doesn’t want, but he and his friends walk away without a fuss when the manager comes.

Later, Del asks in awe how Nel did it. Wasn’t he scared? How was he so brave? Nel laughs, but it isn’t a happy laugh.

“It’s not ‘bout ‘brave,’” he says. “It’s about compliance.” Del doesn’t know what that means. “Fear’s a really messed up sort of power when it’s done on purpose. And it’s just a bad warning sign when it’s not. Lashing out won’t help no one, and running away’s not gonna work forever. So instead you gotta be contrary. Figure out what that fear wants you to do, and then don’t.

“Those dicks wanted me to fight, so they could keep thinking I’m wrong; the enemy. So I offered to be friends. Ma, pops, they’re afraid of Gavin. They’re afraid he’s gonna get me in trouble ‘cause he doesn’t understand that I can’t get away with the same things he can. I can’t buy my way out of my mistakes. They make this a real unfriendly place to be ‘cause they want him to be as scared as they are. But running away won’t help, no matter how much their fear wants him to. We’re still gonna love each other. So instead of running away and breaking my heart, he stays and takes care of me. He learns the world how I see it, so instead of pulling me into fear by accident, he can protect me from it on purpose.

“Look, cuz, there’s a lot in this world to be scared of. You just gotta figure out what’s behind it and get good at arguing. Fear says ‘there’s something hiding in the dark,’ you say ‘then why can’t I hear it?’ It says ‘you’re running out of air,’ you say ‘if light can get in, so can air.’ It says ‘they’re going to attack you,’ you say ‘not if I distract them first.’ It says ‘you can’t do it,’ you say ‘watch me.’

“But most important, and I need you to listen to me here, kay? You listening?” Del nods with all the gravity an eight-year-old can muster. “You remember nothing else, you remember this: Fear tells you ‘you should be ashamed of what you are,’ you say ‘I should only be ashamed of what I do.’ If you not hurting nobody, you got nothing to be ashamed of.”

It doesn’t always work, of course. When Fear says ‘you’re going to get hurt,’ you can’t just say ‘no, I won’t.’ You have to ask ‘will it be worth it?’ But it helps.

So when Del is eleven and a new kid comes to school, Fear yells ‘ _Danger._ ’ and Del looks at the distance everyone has put between them and this serious-looking kid with eyes like storm clouds, and at the extra sweets his mum had packed, and he thinks back ‘Yeah, but dangerous to who?’  
  


-  
  


It’s not always easy being Shay’s friend. It’s pretty hard sometimes actually. And there’s a fear that Del recognizes from his aunt and uncle. He’s afraid that one of these days, he’s going to get in trouble because Shay doesn’t understand that they’re different.

Shay is… Shay is a wildfire. A whirlwind. Shay is something that sweeps you up with a force beyond your comprehension, and if you’re not careful, you’re going to break or burn before it passes.

Del had thought them serious at first, and they are sometimes, but he wouldn’t describe them that way. Passionate, maybe. Restless, definitely. Impulsive, unfortunately. Terrifying, yes. But serious, no. And wrong, never. All Del’s life, something has been wrong, and he fears both what it is and that he’ll never figure it out, but he thinks ‘I’ve lived just fine so far without knowing, and at least it’s not Shay.’

Even when Shay gets stressed over History class and their teacher’s house floods. Even when bullies repeatedly trip and break their noses. Even when Mrs. Patrick sends Shay to the headmaster with mutters about expulsion and a strong wind sends a rock hurtling through her window. When they break up with Lisa and it storms for a week. When Chris calls their parents freaks and the ground shakes. When they’re in one of their moods and a teacher snatches their fidget tool from their hands, only to drop it with a cry of pain as the smell of burnt flesh fills the room. Through it all, Del knows that whatever is wrong in their life, it isn’t Shay.

That doesn’t make it easier when Shay is annoyed and he feels like he stepped on a Lego every time he tries to talk to them about it. Or when they’re excited and the wind near them is so strong it’s hard to breathe. Or when they’re upset and Del has to walk all the way to the Blackwood Institute in 40C heat because a series of accidents have slowed transit. Or when they take up freerunning and they laugh at Del’s worry every time they take a fall that would send anyone else to A&E. Or when Shay realizes how these things affect Del and they get that stricken look and avoid him for a week.

It doesn’t make it easier when Shay acknowledges none of this.

They never lie about it- Shay’s a terrible liar- but they talk around it or laugh it off. And it’s the only time Del ever sees anything like fear in their eyes, so he doesn’t push it.

‘You’re going to get hurt,’ Fear says, time and time again.

With Shay holding his hand as he tells his family he’s gay. With Shay threatening to burn down the stage if he doesn’t get the part. With Shay staying up late to tutor him in math. With Shay offering to unleash their parents on the teacher who calls him stupid. With Shay backstage, very carefully learning how to apply make-up because Del’s hands are shaking too hard from nerves. With Shay laughing and laughing as he cringes over their puns. With Shay always, always stepping in between him and the dark. Del replies, ‘Yeah, but it’s worth it.’

  
-  
  


Shay had sworn they’d be there opening night of Del’s first lead performance. They were going out of town for a while, but they’d sworn they’d be back for it. The wrongness has been getting worse and worse, and the only time it seems to get better is when Del’s on stage, but that doesn’t matter if it’s just replaced by the wrongness of Shay not being there. They’re supposed to talk tonight. High on Del’s success, they’re supposed to talk and Shay is supposed to help figure this out and then maybe, hopefully, they’ll talk about their thing too. But they can’t do that if Shay isn’t there.

They aren’t there before the play. They aren’t there after. They don’t respond to any messages. They don’t answer any calls. Over and over people come up with congratulations. With praise. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because Shay isn’t there. The cast goes out for the afterparty, but they all give up on talking to Del quickly, and it doesn’t matter.

At 3AM, unable to sleep, Del resorts to messaging Shay’s dad, asking if they’re okay, breath held until lungs scream in an attempt to beat back the panic.

‘Something is wrong,’ Fear says. ‘So what?’ Del asks.

‘Shay is hurt/dead/wrong,’ Fear says. ‘Even if they are, they’ll recover,’ Del says back. ‘Shay always recovers.’

‘You’re going to get hurt,’ Fear says. ‘It’s worth it for Shay,’ Del snaps.

Mr. Blackwood messages back “They will be.” and “I promise they’ll call as soon as we get them back.” As if that isn’t utterly terrifying. It’s okay. It’s okay, that’s just how Shay’s dad is. They’ve always said he never realizes he’s being creepy until someone tells him.

‘There’s no air,’ Fear says. And Del’s eyes are hard to force open, but open they do. ‘If the light can get in, so can the air,’ Del replies.

Del messages Mr. Blackwood “When?”

“Soon,” he says.

“Can I wait with you?”

“Of course.”

Del doesn’t have to ask where. Shay’s dad is always at the Institute. The doors are locked, but someone is always there. It’s not the night guard but Mr. Blackwood’s cat that opens the door, though, somehow, and leads Del down to the archives.

‘You’re being watched,’ Fear says. ‘I really don’t care,’ Del replies.

The office door is open. Mr. Blackwood stands when Del walks in. He’s not big on touch, Del knows. Or eye contact. But he puts his hands on Del’s arms and looks in Del’s eyes when he says, “They’re going to be alright, Miss Jackson.” and doesn’t seem to mind when Del throws her arms around him and sobs into his shoulder, because something just turned right in the world and it doesn’t matter because Shay’s still missing.

“Jon?” someone asks from behind her. Martin. Del can’t bear to look up.

“We’re alright, Martin,” Jon says, rubbing a hand over Del’s back.

“Right… I’ll make us some tea.”

Martin gives better hugs than Jon, so it’s him Del is sitting with on the couch half an hour later, talking about her options and one of the Institute therapists who can help if she wants to think about transitioning, and it’s all a bit overwhelming honestly, but it’s a good distraction until the sound of a door creaking open has them all falling silent. There’s a door that shouldn’t be there. Sasha comes through first, inhuman hands depositing a man’s head on Jon’s desk. The rest of his body seems to be draped over Ms. Tonner’s shoulder. Her eyes flash in the light and her teeth seem a bit too sharp through her grimace. And Del really couldn’t give a shit about any of that, because there’s Shay, smiling an exhausted smile, and it’s actually kind of nice how warm they are when she hugs them, even if it would worry Del on anyone else.

“Oh shit,” they say after a second. “The play.”

“It’s fine,” Del assures them, wiping away her tears. “Wasn’t my best performance anyway.”

“Fuck that,” Shay says. “I bet you were perfect.”

“So,” Shay says later as Del lays in their bed beside them, struggling to keep her eyes open. “You’re a girl.”

“So,” Del says through a yawn, “you’re a monster.”

“Yeah, but you knew that even when you thought I was human.” They laugh as Del fails to blindly smack their arm. There’s a long moment of silence, and Del is almost asleep when they finally say, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asks. “Being a monster? Or not telling me?”

“Both?”

“Hey.” Del waits until Shay finally looks over at her. “Never be ashamed of what you are. Only what you do.”

“Then I’m sorry for lying.”

Del laughs. “You never lied. You’re a terrible liar. I would’ve pulled it from you way before now if you’d _lied_.”

“Still.”

“Apology accepted. Now shut up and get some sleep.”

“You know I don’t actually need to sleep?”

Del forces her eyes open one last time, just so she can roll them. “Well I do, so you might as well get some anyway.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, arsehole.”

‘You’re going to get hurt,’ Fear says. ‘Fuck off,’ Del replies.

  
-  
  


Her parents don’t take it well. Being gay, they can understand. For some reason, being trans is harder. They try, she’ll give them that. They do try. It’s still uncomfortable being home, though. Instead, she spends more time with Shay, who doesn’t care. With Shay’s family, who just _knew_. At some point, even Ms. Tonner tells her, “You can call me Daisy, Del,” and they let her blame the hormones when she cries.

When Chris laughs at her, the floor below him mysteriously crumbles into a sinkhole. When she gets denied the first female role she auditions for, lightning hits the theater and the play has to be delayed for repairs.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” she tells Shay.

“Freak accident,” they lie, terribly.

When the Dark reaches out for her, it touches Shay and burns. When the walls start closing in and she can't breathe, Shay crumbles them and all Del feels is a breeze.

‘You’re going to get hurt,’ Fear says.

‘It’s worth it,’ Del replies. And when a terrified man starts raving at Shay as they’re trying to show him out of the Institute, Del doesn’t hesitate to get between them and shut him down with a harsh order to leave. He still doesn’t go of his own volition, but he’s taken back enough for the spider on his neck to get a solid hold.

Martin goes to all her plays. Jon helps her apply to uni. Sasha runs lines with her. Basira reads all her books to help her study. Daisy shows her how to pin someone twice her size. Shay grins.

It’s worth it.

But the summer after they graduate, Shay meets Willa.

Del won’t deny being a bit jealous, but that isn’t why she doesn’t like Willa. It’s because Willa would never tell Shay “You shouldn’t have done that,” even if she was secretly pleased. Willa would never step between Shay and an angry man to keep Shay from doing something they’d regret. Willa wouldn’t do anything she could to pull Shay back when they got too close to the edge. Willa is fuel to the fire, and the problem isn’t even that.

The problem is, she makes Shay forget they don’t like fire, and they love her for it.

“I’m worried,” Del says. “I’m _afraid_. Shay, you’re going to get hurt.”

“No, I won’t,” Shay says. But that’s wrong. That’s not how you respond to the fear of pain. They smile at her, and it hurts. It hurts. “You’re wrong about her. It’s going to be fine.”

But it isn’t.

‘You’re going to get hurt,’ Fear says. ‘It’s worth it,’ Del replies. Will always reply. It’s worth it for Shay. Now and forever.

But.

‘They’re going to destroy themself,’ Fear says. ‘And there will be nothing you can do but watch.’

And that. That’s not. Nothing is worth that. But what else can she do? She can’t keep them safe from themself.

As long as Shay never told her they were a monster, they’d thought, then maybe to her they weren’t. They were wrong, of course. Shay isn’t a monster to her even now. Shay is her best friend, her family, and nothing less.

‘You can’t help them,’ Fear says, and Del says ‘I know.’

She goes to Jon before she leaves.

“I can’t stay,” she tells him. “I can’t watch them walk into this knowing there’s nothing I can do.”

“I understand,” he says, sad but honest. “We’ll still be here. You aren’t leaving them alone.” And she knows. That’s the only reason she _can_ do this.

“Just… I don’t know what I’m going to do without them.” Jon’s still terrible at hugs, but he tries, and he still doesn’t care when she sobs into his shoulder. “They’re going to make it through this, right?”

“They will. I know this is hard, but we understand.”

“You can still call us, you know,” Daisy says from behind her. “We won’t say anything. You don’t have to be alone either.”

“Are you joking?” she laughs. “You’re all terrible liars.”

“Okay, call Martin, then.”

“No. No, I- I think I need to try, at least. And, you know, if sometimes it feels like I’m being watched… I won’t mind.”

“Good girl,” Daisy says, and makes Del lean down so she can kiss her forehead. “If you try to lose our numbers—”

“Martin will just add them back in, I know.”

“Good. Come on, think you still have some things at ours. You’re staying the night. We’ll take you to the station tomorrow.”

“You’re going to get hurt,” she tells Shay just before boarding the train that will take her to university. To the next chapter of her life. Without them. “I hope someday you can show up to one of my plays and tell me it’s worth it. But until then, I can’t bear to sit here and just let it happen. I love you. So much. But until you can say, with absolute certainty, that this is worth what you’ll lose… please don’t contact me.”

‘Well done,’ Fear says. ‘You got yourself hurt.’

‘If it makes them reconsider,’ Del replies, ‘just enough that they survive… then it’s worth it.’

‘You’ll never see them again,’ Fear says.

“Yes, I will,” Del states, because anything else is unthinkable. Yes, she will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr [here](https://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/633187791382233088/do-you-have-more-shay-in-human-school-stuff)


	13. Cass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People asked for Cass's meeting w/ Martin about the new Institute. This takes place at the end of [Gossip,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989452) so you probably want to make sure you read that first, if only so you know who Cass is.

Cass and Martin have never been friends. Which is odd because it’s not like they haven’t known each other, and they’re both generally friendly people. They’ve even been friends with a lot of the same people. And yet, even after years of working in the same place and talking to the same people, they still know each other almost solely by reputation. Reputation which, prior to Martin joining the Archives, had been good. Now… well, now it’s hard to say.  
  
The doors are locked, as usual, when Cass arrives for her pseudo-interview, but that’s been the case for months and it hasn’t mattered so far. And as usual, Patrząc meets her out front and leads her around to a side door, propped open with a tape recorder, that she locks back up behind her. As always.  
  
“And how are you today, beautiful?” Cass asks. Patrząc meows back, pleased. “That’s great. So, what are the odds I’m about to lose my job?” Another meow; Cass laughs. “I know better than to bet against myself. Do you even have any money?” Patrząc ignores her, just leads her through the familiar building to a room on the ground floor that Cass knows has been turned into Martin’s new office. There they stop.  
  
“Right.” Cass takes a deep breath. “Wish me luck.”  
  
“Mrrow,” Patrząc says.  
  
“It doesn’t matter if I need it or not. It’s _polite_.” The cat just stares. “Oh hush.”  
  
With another breath, Cass knocks, intending to wait, but as soon as she does, Patrząc huffs and rubs up against the door, which swings open with only a soft click. She meows at Martin as she leads Cass in and then stalks right back out as the door closes behind her.  
  
“That cat has no sense of decorum,” Cass says fondly, staring after her.  
  
“She’s Jon’s cat,” Martin responds, just as fond, “I’ve given up. Anyway. Sit, please. You want any tea?”  
  
“Sure. Just a—”  
  
“Small spoonful of sugar,” Martin finishes, already setting the mug in front of her. It’s made perfectly. “So, first off, thank you for all the work you’ve been doing. It’s really been a relief to not have all that to worry about.”  
  
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Cass lies.  
  
“Right. So you _don’t_ want this bonus I was going to give you.”  
  
“Well it’s not like you or Sims were going to maintain the network. Also you can blame the cat for letting me in.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. I’ve always known. If it was a problem we would’ve talked way before now.”  
  
“Right. Good… Should I bother asking how? I know you’re not watching the security footage.” She’d checked. No one had accessed any of it but her since they closed the doors.  
  
“You… can. First I’d like to go over some things myself. And, whenever he can be bothered to join us, Jon has some questions too.”  
  
“O- oh.” Cass doesn’t actually have anything to hide— not really. She still gets a shiver down her spine, though, and takes a sip of perfect tea to cover it. “Sure.”  
  
“Cool. Alright. Where—” Martin flips through the papers on his desk, fumbling a bit. It makes him look like the same nice, approachable man he’d been before. Something about it feels deliberate, though. Cass forces herself into a relaxed posture to match. Finally, Martin finds what he was ‘looking’ for, two sheets down in the stack right in front of him. “Ah! Here we go. So you’ve been working here for six years, right? Two promotions in that time. Do you like working here? I guess that’s a good place to start.”  
  
“I mean, yeah. It’s not exactly easy work. IT in a place like this—”  
  
“Not exactly easy to do _any_ job in a place like this,” Martin mutters.  
  
“Well, yeah, but you never had to explain to Elias that it didn’t matter how high- or low- tech we went, security cameras _wouldn’t_ work in the Archives.”  
  
“You didn’t have to hide in your flat for a full day because supernatural worms trapped you there.”  
  
“You didn’t have to create an entirely new encryption program to prevent data corruption in _all_ Elias’s emails.”  
  
“You didn’t have to try to convince Tim not to murder Jon.”  
  
“You didn’t have to write a virus to keep Tim from stalking Sims even _more_.”  
  
“Did you really?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Oh… thanks.”  
  
Cass waves him off. “Not like it worked.”  
  
“Still… You didn’t get chased through secret tunnels and stumble across your old boss’s corpse.”  
  
“Right, about that! Who _did_ kill Gertrude? Really?”  
  
“Elias.”  
  
“Yes! _Called it_ …” She considers for a second. “You didn’t have to crawl through the walls to replace the cables the worms _ate through_. You think the ECDC cleared out all their gross, wriggly little corpses? They didn’t.”  
  
Martin sets down his tea, looking appropriately disgusted. “Oh, _ugh_. Hmm… You didn’t have to run from a creature that eats people and steals their identities.”  
  
“You didn’t have your friend replaced and have to explain to their best friend what happened without fully understanding it yourself.”  
  
“I… kind of did, actually.”

Cass pauses, something suddenly becoming clear. “Oh… oh. I’m… surprised Tim was as controlled as he was, then.”  
  
“Yeah. He had… other things to distract him. It’s not exactly the same. Sasha’s still around, sort of. She’s just—” Not something he really wants to talk about, clearly.  
  
“Right. You’ve never had to spend hours trying to figure out exactly how Sasha fucked up your system after she changed things without warning.”  
  
“I have, though,” Martin sighs, clearly exasperated. “The number of forms I’ve had to redo. It’s not… totally her fault. She doesn’t mean to do it; it’s more like a reflex.”  
  
“Oh no. Michael Lanson’s entire existence in our system was not some reflex. She did that intentionally, and she made it _just_ right enough that I probably wouldn’t have noticed for months if Hannah hadn’t said something, and just wrong enough I had to redo the whole thing from scratch or it would’ve drove me insane.”  
  
“Oh. That. Yeah. She was… trying to do us a favor, sort of? Anyway, you never had to convince Daisy Tonner that you had no clue where Jon might be while he was on the run.”  
  
“Sure I did. Not as hard as you did, sure, but I still had to lie to her.”  
  
“Wait— You knew where Jon was?”  
  
“I mean, not at first. But Melanie King comes in talking about the dead guy being Jurgen Leitner and leaving with boxes from the Archives? That she’s just _allowed_ to carry out? After Sims utterly destroyed Diana in her defense?”  
  
“Wait, Jon did what?”

Cass sits bolt upright, potential glee already taking hold. “You don’t know about that? I swear the archives were CCed.”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Oh my god. Okay. Hold on,” Cass says, already scrolling through the saved emails on her phone. It takes less than a minute to find and send the right one. “You never wondered why Diana hates Sims so much?”  
  
“I mean. A lot of people hate Jon, and I doubt Diana could kill him, so I wasn’t that worried that… Oh my god, Jon. How did I miss this? I… I think I might need to frame this… Wait, if you thought he was with Melanie, why _didn’t_ you say anything to Daisy?”  
  
Cass pauses for a second, but, well, given how freaky the Archivist himself is, this probably won’t phase Martin _too_ much. “I didn’t just think. I traced her mobile to place her at Georgie Barker’s and then hacked CCTV feeds until I caught Sims.”  
  
“You…” Martin sighs and slumps a bit. “Of course you did. I don’t know why I… That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell Daisy.”  
  
Cass shrugs and takes another sip of tea. “Wasn’t my business. Also, that would’ve been tampering and all the bets I’d taken would be void. Anyway. You never had to prove to Daisy Tonner that you’d already destroyed any and all evidence that might implicate Jonathan Sims in any murder, especially that of Peter Lukas, after she joined the Institute.”  
  
“You never had to get Jon to talk about his feelings.”  
  
“True, but you never had to explain to Elias both what keyloggers are and why we shouldn’t use them.”  
  
“Key— Wait, are you trying to tell me there _aren’t_ keyloggers on every computer here?”  
  
“Oh, no, there absolutely are. But all collected data is immediately encrypted with a specially created algorithm where the key changes at short, irregular intervals and requires both knowledge-based and biological-based authentication just to generate a decryption key for use. Also our storage space is limited, so most of it can only be kept for a week at most. He probably still knew everything everyone ever typed, but any actual evidence was only ever accessible by me.”  
  
It takes Martin a moment to process this. Cass takes another sip of tea.  
  
“How did you get away with _that?”_  
  
“Assured him Gertrude would never be able to access any of it. And then every time he came around for any reason I started thinking about all the upgrades I wanted to ask for.”  
  
He looks a little shell-shocked. “I… honestly can’t tell how much you know about everything that’s been going on around here.”  
  
“Not as much as us, but more than most everyone else, and enough she likely won’t change her mind about staying,” Jonathan Sims says, striding in looking harried with a very self-satisfied cat draped across his shoulders. “I… apologize for my tardiness, Martin, Josie.”  
  
Cass freezes.  
  
“Jos—” Martin starts to ask.  
  
“Ahh,” Sims says, almost sheepishly. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t—”  
  
“It’s fine,” Cass says stiffly. “I figured you probably knew. It’s— not actually that big a deal.”  
  
“Still. I shouldn’t— I didn’t mean to—” Well, this is awkward.  
  
“Martin said you had some questions,” she cuts him off.  
  
“Y-yes. I— don’t think that will be necessary.”  
  
“Wait- _really?”_ Martin asks incredulously. “ _You_ don’t have any questions? _You?”_  
  
“I—” Cass knows many things about most of the people who have worked in the Institute over the past six years, but there’s only so much you can ever actually know about a person from a distance. She’s good at filling in the blanks, but it still somehow surprises her to find that the dreaded Archivist is almost _painfully_ awkward. He looks at her with something like apprehension.  
  
“Go ahead,” she tells him and goes to take another sip, only to find her cup empty. Damn.  
  
“Miss Walters has a grand total of _one_ close friend outside the Institute, and that only because Hannah Kenway has now left our employ. Her only remaining family is a grandfather who lives in a small town near Barcelona and hasn’t taken any of her calls in the past five years, though she still always tries on Christmas and her mother’s birthday. She has had an interest in the paranormal since… ah.”  
  
“Since?” Martin prompts. Cass keeps staring at the empty mug in betrayal.  
  
“Since her mother disappeared when she was six, after reading her a children’s book titled “Una Invitada Para el Señor Araña.”  
  
“What does— _Ohh.”_  
  
“Guessing you know that one, then,” Cass says.  
  
“I— had my own encounter with it,” Sims tells her. “About three years after yours, though it was in English then.”  
  
“Yeah. Strange how no one ever believes the kid who says they saw a giant spider eat someone.”  
  
“And yet— You aren’t afraid of spiders.”  
  
“I am. Sort of. After it happened, I decided I was going to learn everything there was to know about spiders, the supernatural, and Jurgen Letiner. Which eventually brought me here. It’s just… Spiders are _fascinating_. I have a… healthy respect for them—”  
  
“And you’ve always been attracted to dangerous things.”  
  
Cass narrows her eyes at him and tries to keep her voice serious when she says, “If you’re about to say the word ‘murderwives,’ I’m gonna have to insist you let me record it.”  
  
Sims scowls, something like affront on his face. “I would _not.”_  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but now I actually kind of want to hear you say that, Jon,” Martin says. Cass wonders again why they aren’t friends already.  
  
“I _will_ not!”  
  
“I bet Sasha could get you to say it.”  
  
“She could not, and you are _not_ going to call her in here just to try,” Sims asserts, but the mischievous smile Martin has doesn’t seem to agree. “ _Martin.”_  
  
“I won’t call her in here just to try,” Martin promises, though Cass notes what he _doesn’t_ say and doubts that will be the end of it. Around Sims, Martin nods at her, just slightly, and she knows that she’ll probably get an audio file from him within the week.  
  
Sims looks reproachful. Martin looks entirely unrepentant.  
  
“Regardless,” Sims decides to move on, “Miss Walters has found herself rather attached to the Institute and likely hasn’t even considered not staying on. Also I suspect, should we not keep her on, our network may refuse to cooperate with her replacement entirely.”  
  
“… You mean that literally, don’t you?” Martin sounds so resigned Cass has to laugh.  
  
“That’s my baby,” she says proudly.  
  
“Right,” he sighs. “So I guess we’ll just go straight to selling your soul to a fear god, then.”  
  
She can’t say that’s what she was expecting to hear, especially with someone like _Martin_ in charge. But, she supposes, they don’t actually know each other that well. Anyway, selling your soul to a fear god sounds dangerous, and she’s intrigued.  
  
“Alright,” she asks, “is that a bug or a feature?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tumblr [here](https://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/633354693910921216/sign-over-your-soul)


	14. Tim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because Sasha's a fear monster now doesn't mean she's going to let Tim stop being her friend. And she's definitely not afraid to call him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no additional warnings for this chapter

Three months or so after the Unknowing. After they’d all gotten pizza and got mostly drunk and pretended for the night that they were all friends and everything was fine. After Tim had handed in his resignation and closed a chapter in his life he was beginning to think would never end with a strong determination never to reopen it. Three months after all that, Tim comes home to find her in his flat.

She smiles at him, in such a familiar way, and it should make him angry, he thinks, like he was with the thing that took Danny. Angry and afraid. He’s not though. Mostly he’s just tired. Tired and sad. He drops his wallet and keys on the side table and locks the door behind him. It’s not like this thing uses normal entrances.

He purposely doesn’t look at her and she sighs. “Tim—”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t tell me you’re her, because you’re not.”

“I’m not… _not_ her,” she hedges.

Incredulity forces him to face her. “That… that doesn’t even make any sense!”

“Yes, that’s… kind of the point.”

“Of what?” He really shouldn’t ask. He really should know better.

“Me? I guess? Whatever _I_ am. Sense is meant to be… twisted, and coiled, and looped back on itself. For me.” Her fingers twist around themselves, and Tim can’t watch too long without getting dizzy. He shuts his eyes.

“I can’t tell if I’m pissed off or just confused.”

“Both, probably. I just… We were never going to be what you wanted us to be. But I couldn’t just let you… mourn me, and pretend I’m not here. I didn’t kill Sasha, Tim. Sasha became me.”

Tim scoffs. “Yeah, like Jon became that thing he is now. ‘The Archivist’.”

“Y— Well, yes? And also no. Jon’s change was more gradual—”

“The hell it was! Maybe for _him_ , but he’s _not_ the Jon I worked with. That I was _friends_ with. _That_ Jon was just— _overwritten_.”

“Is it really overwriting,” she asks, “if they were the same person to that point? Does it matter, if the Jon you’re talking about would’ve have gone through the next four years in the exact same manner as this Jon did? Jon became what he is because that’s where he was pushed. You’re blaming him for being changed by his experiences.”

“I’m no—”

“You are. You feel personally betrayed because the end result of his trauma isn’t who you remember from before it. If this Jon hadn’t come back, we’d both be dead by now. And you’d have hated him all the same.” Her voice is sharp but annoyingly level. That’s always…

“... aren’t you _not_ supposed to make sense?” he grumbles.

“Well, if _I_ don’t knock some into you, who’s going to? _Jon?_ ” She sighs, picking at her fingers. “I am… less Sasha, than the Archivist is Jon. But Jon’s change happened without his understanding. As Sasha, I chose this, knowing what I was doing.”

“You could be lying,” Tim says, swallowing down the bitter taste in his mouth.

“I could,” she agrees with a grin. “If I was, you might never know. I’m very good at it.”

“Not exactly the answer I was looking for.”

“Yes, but if I told you _that_ , it would be a _lie_.” There’s a slight ringing in his ears, like the chuckle she’s trying to contain behind that smile can’t help but seep through. Part of him wants to laugh as well, the other part is trying to remember that trick to get rid of tinnitus.

Eventually he drops himself into a chair and lets the force expel the air from his lungs. Not quite a sigh. Not quite resignation. Not quite a roll of his eyes. “Alright, fine. Then _why?_ ”

“That’s hard to explain rationally. I made a statement about it,” she says brightly. “Two actually! You could listen to them if you want, I don’t mind.”

“I’m _not_ going back to that place. Just… _try_.” She positions herself on the sofa, not so much sitting in it as draping herself over it, her legs just _happening_ to end up curled on the cushions. And Tim knows that furrowed brow, that slight, contemplative frown. He doesn’t push. Sasha always… she’d always needed time to order her thoughts before she spoke. Never one to stutter through.

“Fear, I suppose.” Her whole head seems to roll with her eyes when he snorts, though it never actually moves. “Yes, I know, but… there’s no good way to describe it. No other word that fits so well. There were so very many feelings that led me to the decision. So many thoughts and rationalizations and doubts. But underneath it all, it was fear. Fear of never seeing Jon again; fear of him being hurt; fear of finding him too late, yes. But also fear of my own helplessness; fear of how easy it would be to be a victim— just another unfortunate statement-giver, and fear of not having the power to help when the time came. Fear that, in a job like that, the End would find me too soon. Fear of losing myself. Fear of being too afraid to risk it. Fear of my own stubbornness keeping me from adapting like I needed to. Fear of what it would mean, once I figured it all out. Fear that I never would, and it would eat away at me. Fear that, underneath it all, I didn’t _want_ to figure it all out. Fear of how that desperation to just _be lost_ pulled at me, and fear of what I’d be if I didn’t answer it.” The words come faster and faster until it’s hard to distinguish what she’s saying, though the sentiment still gets through. She takes a breath and sits back from where she’d starting leaning toward him. It’s painfully familiar.

“I was so full of contradictory fears, and it kept chipping away at me, at my reason. And then Michael told me he was going to kill Jon, and for just a moment it all stopped and it all hit me at once. And I thought ‘Can I really do this?’ and I knew I could. I _wanted_ to. Maybe there were better ways— ways that kept me more me— but _this_ was the one before me. _This_ was the quickest, the most decisive, the most useful, and if I hesitated, there was no guarantee I’d get another chance. So I took it.”

“Not to be a self-centered ass, but what about me?” His voice is thick, trying to catch in his throat. “Did you even consider what it would do to me, to see this happen to you?”

“Yes. Of course. You’re my best friend.” He scoffs through the tears, and she smacks his arm, chiding, like she always did, though she should be too far to be able. “You _are_. Jon, Martin… they’re my family now. There’s a bond there that I don’t think even Jon could describe. But I think… you’re why I’m still Sasha.”

“Sorry, what? No—”

“Yes. Do you know how easy it would’ve been? To just let myself go? To become just a- a dye on the yarn, rather than a strand in the braid?” It should be rhetorical, but she just waits, and Tim thinks she’s been around Martin too long. Though maybe Martin got it from her, rather than the other way around. It’s been years now, Tim can barely remember what mannerisms she had before the Archives.

“Easy, I assume?”

“ _So_ easy, Tim! So. Easy. But I didn’t! I stayed mostly me!” Sasha pauses and tilts her head slightly. “Well… partly. At least half!”

“And you think that’s good enough?” Tim still can’t shake that bitter taste… or is it sour?

“I hope it is.” The words sound flat. Not without emotion but… without that unnatural reverberation that makes the world tilt. They sound… human. They sound like Sasha. “I really, really hope it is.”

It fucking hurts. It hurts that she’s gone. It hurts that she left him behind. It hurts that there is something sitting in his flat, with her face, asking— if he’s reading it right— to be friends. It hurts that it’s not really her. And it hurts that it _is_. There are differences. Countless differences. But the way she talks, moves, smiles… it’s all Sasha, turned up to eleven. It hurts how much he wants this. And he’s so, so sick of that bitter taste.

“I can’t just go back to how things were,” he chokes out. “I can’t just pretend you’re the same person I knew before.”

“No,” she agrees. “No, of course not. We could start small, though, maybe? Get lunch sometime? Make awkward conversation over and over until it eventually becomes natural?”

“Do you even eat anymore?” Tim has to ask.

“I… ate the pizza?” This seems like the sort of thing she should’ve thought about earlier, but he supposes she has had other things on her mind. “And I still like coffee. So… probably? I don’t need it, but I think I can still _enjoy_ it. Maybe. I’m really curious to find out now.”

Of course she is. And that thought is what decides him.

“Okay,” he says. “Lunch then. On Thursday.”

Sasha perks up and grins. “Really?! Oh! That’s great! Lunch on Thursday! Right. I'll- I’ll let you be, then, and see you Thursday. I’d give you a hug, but—”

“Please don’t.” Her laugh still makes him flinch, but she doesn’t try to contain it this time.

What she does can’t be called standing so much as unfolding, but whatever she does, she gets up from his couch and goes to a yellow door on his outer wall that definitely shouldn’t be there. Tim drops his head to his hands and rubs his temples.

“… Thank you, Tim,” she says, but doesn’t seem to mind that he doesn’t respond as the door swings open with an eerie creak. Just before she steps fully inside, she stops. “Oh… Tim?”

“Yes,” he asks, trying to remember if he still has any paracetamol anywhere.

“When is Thursday?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr [here](https://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/633785687480696832/as-always)


	15. Ethan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan Herne just wants to do his job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings: briefly mentioned self-harm and eye trauma right at the start

Being an Assistant Archivist at the Blackwood Institute is… well, it’s nerve-wracking honestly. There’s no formal training, and this seems to be largely because there’s been only one other person to have held the position in… _ever_ , as far as Ethan can tell. And that had been over fifteen years ago and lasted a grand total of nine months before Chloe Halloway, age 29, had a “crisis of faith” and tendered her resignation by pouring bleach directly into her eyes.

“If you’re going to reconsider your position here,” Jon said matter-of-factly, after telling Ethan this, “I highly suggest you do so prior to signing a permanent contract.”

Which was really unnecessarily creepy, sure, but creepy is sort of why Ethan is here in the first place, so not _that_ surprising. The least Miss Halloway could have done, in his opinion, was leave some kind of manual or something behind. A guide. Notes. Ethan would probably be willing to kill a man for a “To-Do list” at this point.

Technically Ethan has his own office, but the room is dusty and cluttered and doesn’t actually have a desk or chair yet, so he set up in the main Archive area, where there are three ancient desks, three slightly less ancient desk chairs, a small table, and inexplicably, a wardrobe and a worn armchair. Finding the least uncomfortable configuration of furniture made him feel a bit like Goldilocks, despite the desks and corresponding chairs being virtually identical. He figured that was what had been meant by “make yourself comfortable.” Jon didn’t say any different.

Between orientation (signing papers, sitting through general training, another tour, getting his picture taken with an actual polaroid camera, etc) and “settling in,” it hadn’t mattered the first day that Jon didn’t give him any direction. And when Ethan got in on the second day, Jon had already been in the middle of taking a statement, so Ethan had busied himself going through the desk he’d taken. And then another desk. And then the other desk.

At the end of that task, he had various office supplies, a good dozen unfiled statements, five tape recorders, sixteen unlabeled tapes, five labeled tapes that didn’t match any of the unfiled statements, a small notebook with a few unfinished poems, a bag of what _might_ have once been gummy worms, a nearly empty bottle of vodka, two very faded polaroids of a younger Jon and Martin with a woman identified on the back as Sasha, and a large, _large_ stack of poorly drawn and seemingly conflicting maps. Also a lingering feeling that he would never be able to fully get the cobwebs off his arms.

He wasn’t sure what to do with any of it.

Well, except for the gummy worms and vodka, which he promptly disposed of.

Most of the rest ended up on top of one of the unused desks. And by the time that was done, it was nearly time to leave. As far as Ethan could tell, Jon hadn’t come out of his office once. Though, apparently the statement-giver had left at some point without Ethan noticing, so he couldn’t actually be sure. He does have a tendency to block everything else out when he’s focused on a task.

When he came in on the third day, the desk he’d placed everything on was clear and Jon wasn’t in his office. In absence of anything else to do, Ethan started looking through the database. From reading (and supposing any of what he heard on The Observer Chronicles was accurate), he thought he understood a couple of the categories. Others seemed a bit too… arbitrary. Most entries appeared to have corresponding files regarding any follow-up done, but very few had actual digital copies of the statements themselves. And _only_ the discredited statements had audio files.

Jon didn’t return until well after lunch time, and when he did he seemed almost surprised to see Ethan there.

“You should take an early day,” Jon told him, before Ethan managed to formulate any of his questions. “Daisy’s brought me a statement. Probably best it doesn’t see you in case we decide to let it go.”

And then he went into his office. Ethan had no idea who Daisy was or how a statement was supposed to see him— or what it would do to him if it did— but it didn’t look like he was going to get any answers now, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to risk it. So he was left with nothing but to do as Jon suggested.

—

“You’re home early,” Naomi says when he walks in to find his mum sitting on the couch.

“So are you,” Ethan replies, and he didn’t even do all that much today, but he feels exhausted none-the-less.

“I had an appointment,” she reminds him. Right. He knew that. He’d just… forgotten. But he knows she hadn’t really expected him to remember. “Nothing to report. So? What has you home already?”

“Jon told me to go home. Someone named Daisy brought him a statement, and he thought it was better I wasn’t there. Why? I have no idea.”

“Well, it’s early yet, and they deal with some pretty dangerous things there,” she reasons. “The Jon I knew tried to look out for people. Can’t say I’m not glad if it’s still the same.”

“Sure, but…” Ethan stands there, fiddling with the strap of his bag, staring at the coffee table as he tries to find the words. Naomi waits, but he’s not sure what to say.

“Why don’t you go put your bag down,” she says eventually. “Think it over a bit, then come sit with me. I’ll get you some tea and wake up Beaker.”

True to her word, when Ethan gets back in more comfortable clothes, there’s a cup of tea waiting on the table, just barely steaming, and a squirming, growling ball of orange fluff in his mum’s lap. The moment he sits and Naomi lets go, the cat is in his lap, squeaking her indignation. Her brush is already set on the couch beside him.

“Thanks,” he says, and his mum just nods.

“So?” she prompts.

Ethan sighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Ethan, you’ve only been there three days. Not even three days. Everyone feels lost when they start a new job. It happened literally every time you started a new year in school, if you’ll recall.” He keeps brushing Beaker, but he can see his mum smiling in his peripheral vision and he rolls his eyes.

“No, yeah, I know _that_. I mean I _literally_ have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing. There’s been no training. No instructions. I don’t- I cleaned out desks and I looked through the database and I read some old statements, and I keep waiting for Jon to say something. Tell me what I’m supposed to do. Explain _anything_.” Beaker squeaks again, nipping at his arm as he absently tugs a bit too hard at a knot of fur. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“I’m going to be honest,” Naomi says, huffing slightly the same way she does every time the tube runs late, even though she expects it. “That’s far, far more common than you’d think.”

“That makes no sense, though! How are people supposed to do their jobs if no one explains how to do the job?”

“Well… I think a lot of people try to pretend and copy the people around them. It’s usually better to just ask, though. People can get so used to doing something that they honestly forget that other people don’t know how, and Jon’s been doing this for a very long time. What did he say when you asked?”

On the table, Ethan’s tea is going cold. If he leans over to get it, though, Beaker will probably yell at him and run away, and brushing her really is helping him relax. But his mouth feels so dry, and it might be worth it.

“Ethan,” his mum says in that tone. That one she always got right before Caleb tried to lie to her. “You did ask Jon, right?”

There’s another knot in Beaker’s fur, but he takes more care with this one and she just keeps purring. He rocks. His mouth is still so dry.

Naomi sighs, setting her own cup down and passing Ethan his, handle out. It’d be alright today, he thinks, if their hands touched when he took it from her, but she’s always careful anyway. He takes a sip. The tea is good, as always, though he can’t help thinking of his interview with Martin. There’d been a cup waiting for him in Martin’s office. His favorite kind, perfectly made. He’d meant to ask Martin how he knew, but then he just… hadn’t.

“You didn’t. Ethan, you… Okay. Okay. Why not?” his mum asks.

“I don’t know! He’s always… in his office and- and busy or— I don’t know. He makes me a little… nervous or something.”

“Intimidated.”

“Maybe?”

“I can understand that,” she says. “The first time I technically met Jon, I was terrified of him. The first… many times. Even after I actually met him and got to talk to him, I kept having to remind myself that he didn’t want to hurt me. If he’s still like I remember him, and I’m willing to bet he is, then I don’t think leaving you to figure things out yourself or not talking to you is intentional. He’s really a very… very awkward man.” She’s staring at the wall, but doesn’t seem to be looking at anything, and after a moment she laughs a little. “Promise me you’ll at least try to talk to him Monday?”

Ethan promises, of course.

—

Jon doesn’t even seem to understand the words at first, when Ethan asks him what an assistant here does. For a few seconds, there’s no expression, and then Jon’s brow furrows and he looks down at the papers on his desk like he might read the answer there.

“I— Hmm,” he says. “F-file? Organize? I— What _did_ they— I never actually _was_ one, so… It occurs to me that I am very lucky I chose to include Sasha after all. You might ask her? Or- or Martin. They actually did the assisting once upon a time, so…” Jon shrugs, or Ethan thinks he does. There’s a cat draped across his shoulders, so they don’t actually move much. And then Ethan stands there, and Jon sits, and neither of them say anything, and if Ethan’s mum is right, it’s because neither of them is quite sure what to say.

Ethan leaves.

Martin was nice during his interview. Encouraging and friendly and patient when it took some time for Ethan to decide what to say. It was a far, far easier interview than he’d feared. And Martin had said Ethan could come to him if he had any questions. Despite that, Martin makes Ethan even more nervous than Jon. It’s always worse disappointing friendly people.

So instead, Ethan makes his way to the Library, because that’s where Sasha works, if he’s remembering right. Once he’s there, though, he has no idea where to look, and it occurs to him that there may be more than one Sasha. The one he’d seen when he interviewed was young; maybe a couple years older than him. But the one in the pictures he found in the Archives would surely be Jon’s age at least. There’s no one who looks like either of them that he can see.

“Excuse me,” he says to someone who is probably a librarian, since he’s sitting at a desk with a plaque that says the date and ‘You’d have been out of here days ago if you’d just asked for help.’ The man doesn’t look up from his book. “I’m looking for Sasha?”

“Upstairs,” the guy says. The library is only one floor, though. It’s the first time he’s been in it, but Ethan made note of all Mara’s warnings.

“I’d like to speak to Sasha,” he says, firmer. The guy doesn’t look up and doesn’t look up and doesn’t… and then something changes and he stiffens and slowly looks up at Ethan, and he seems almost… nervous.

The man coughs. “O-oh. You’re- you’re from the Archives.”

“Yes,” Ethan agrees. “I need to talk to Sasha?”

“Right. Sure. Um, I’ll get— uh, Kelly- Kelly will help you.” The man nods toward something over Ethan’s shoulder. When he turns there’s someone already there, a bit too close, and Ethan didn’t know teeth _could_ be that white.

“Hi!” They smile and smile. “I’m Michael. You can call me Kelly. I’m here to help. This way please!” Literally turning on their heel, they walk away with a gait more like a bounce than a walk, and Ethan follows. Right up until they hop onto the first step.

“I—” he says. Even before they turn their head, he can somehow see their smile. Human necks almost definitely aren’t supposed to turn that far. He almost forgets what he meant to say.

“Yes?”

“I— I was told the library is only one storey.”

They smile and smile. “That’s right.”

“But… the stairs?” he asks.

“What stairs?” Their head tilts, like a curious dog, still looking over their shoulder. And human necks _definitely_ aren’t supposed to turn like that.

Ethan looks down at the stair Kelly is perched on, and they look down as well. There is no acknowledgement of the stairs.

“Come on!” They smile. “Best to take the first step at a bit of a jump!”

And they keep going up the stairs, so Ethan takes a breath and hops onto the first step.

Except it isn’t a step. It’s… a rug maybe? It doesn’t stop looking like stairs, but the whole thing is level, and he nearly trips more than a couple times expecting his foot to hit the floor before it does. When they reach the end, he looks back. Back and down. Down at the library, one storey below.

At the end of a short hallway, there is a yellow door; one that Ethan is sure he’s seen before, except somewhere else. Kelly bounces up to it and knocks, and looks back at him and smiles and smiles, and then the door creaks open.

The person who emerges is definitely the young woman he saw when he came for his interview, but she’s also almost definitely the woman in the photograph from decades ago.

“Hi, Sasha!” Kelly smiles. “This one wants to talk to you!”

“Oh? Oh!” Sasha also smiles, and there’s a ringing in Ethan’s ear when she talks, but it seems like a fairly normal smile. At least, comparatively. “You’re the new Archival Assistant!”

“Uh, A- Assistant Archivist, actually.” It probably doesn’t matter. People are always telling him things like this don’t matter, and he shouldn’t bother correcting them. For some reason, though, it really feels like this _does_.

Sasha, at least, looks a bit surprised. “Really? Huh. That’s _fascinating_.”

Ethan is at least 75% sure she isn’t being sarcastic. “Is it?”

The hallway couldn’t have been more than five meters, but her laugh echoes down it. “It is! Thank you, Kelly. I’ll be sure Ethan makes his way back alright.”

It’s a clear dismissal, but Kelly doesn’t move. They keep looking at Sasha and they smile and smile and smile until eventually Sasha rolls her eyes and scoffs.

“Please,” she says. “I couldn’t lose one of Jon’s if I wanted to. He’ll be back in the Archives as soon as we’re done talking.”

Kelly smiles. “Okay!” they say cheerily, as if there’d never been any tension at all. “Nice to meet you, Ethan!” and then they’re gone.

“They’re a good kid,” Sasha says. “Well, then. Please, step into my office.” She closes the yellow door behind her and opens a different one beside it, that Ethan is also sure hadn’t been there a moment before. It’s a normal enough door, though. Looks a lot like Jon’s, actually. Sasha waves him through, and if he didn’t know better, Ethan would be sure he was back in the Archives.

In fact, he’s pretty sure that’s the same couch that’s currently sitting in Jon’s office and the same armchair he’d moved into his own “office” the other day; though both look in significantly better shape here.

“Have a seat,” Sasha says, dropping onto the couch— or draping herself across it rather— and eliciting a grumbling meow from an almost opalescent white cat that flicks its tail when she goes to pet it and jumps into Ethan’s lap the moment he settles into the chair. At first touch its fur feels like marble, but then he pets it and it feels like plush. He can’t hear the purr, but the rumble makes his fingers tingle.

“So, Ethan. What can I help you with?” Sasha asks.

“Well. My job… I hope.”

She sits up and sounds delighted when she says, “Oh, did you find a statement about me already? You’ve only been here a couple weeks, haven’t you?”

“Four… days?” It’s not a question. Ethan _knows_ this is his fourth day. _Knows_. Yet for some reason he starts second guessing himself. It _has_ only been four days… right? Yes. Yes, four days.

After the “stairs,” he doesn’t bother asking why there would be statements about her.

Sasha thinks for a moment and then waves his comment away. “Close enough. Time is fake. So… which one is it?”

“I didn’t— find a statement. I’m just trying to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing. Jon told me to ask you because you’ve actually done the job before.”

If she keeps laughing like that, he’s going to end up with a headache. The ringing is terrible.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs. “I wish I could think you were joking, but I know you’re not. I love Jon. He’s such a disaster. You know he knows basically everything?” Ethan does not know that. A lot, definitely. More than anyone logically should or could, sure. But everything?

“That… sounds improbable.” Buried in the cat’s equally improbable fur, Ethan’s fingers start going numb.

“He does. He knows almost everything and then always forgets that he knows anything. It’s hilarious,” Sasha says with a grin. “Alright. We used to do a lot of research, but that was back when we were cleaning up Gertrude’s mess and all the work the actual Research department did somehow got lost on its way down the stairs. The real ones. And Jon only knew most things rather than basically everything…”

She tells him she did research and reorganized possibly the worst archiving system in the world. She tells him she took statement-givers’ information and caught flies to feed the spiders in the corners. She tells him she killed worms and mapped underground tunnels and scanned in old letters and typed up written statements and managed “monster relations” and blew up mannequins and recorded false statements and hacked government networks and provided alibis and stole old books from museums and sang to the recorders so they wouldn’t start eating people’s fingers and updated the database and appeased disgruntled “youtubers” and collected obituaries and plotted her boss’s death.

Ethan is sure some of these things aren’t true, but he just walked up a flight of not-stairs, so he honestly couldn’t begin to guess which. He’s also not sure how many of them are relevant.

“Mostly, though,” Sasha concludes, “you take care of Jon.”

He does try to ask about the categories, and a couple of the titles she gives them make some kind of sense, but she also says category 06 is “me”, 09 is poker, 10 is geese, and 15 is millennials, so he decides to take those with a grain of salt as well.

When they finally leave her office, the door opens into the front lobby.

“There we are! Back safe and sane, just like I promised. I know I said I’d get you back to the Archives, but I’m not actually allowed to open doors down there anymore. And it’s only… Oops.” The lobby is quiet and the windows are dark. It’s definitely well into evening, though Ethan suspects midnight has come and gone. His watch starts buzzing with missed messages. “Well, I’m sure it’s at least the same day or Jon would’ve yelled at me by now. I could give you a shortcut home?”

The yellow door is back, and beyond it is a long hallway.

“I think I’d better take the long way,” he says.

Sasha nods. “That’s fair.”

—

If Ethan could actually figure out how to message HR, he would just message them. Even if it took them a day to get back to him, he’d still be better off than he has been so far. Unfortunately, he can’t find any sort of contact information for them at all. So the morning of his fifth day, he goes to the front desk and meets Priya No-Last-Name-As-Is-Tradition, who handles “reception, admin, and whatever Martin needs.”

He doesn’t ask, but she informs him Martin will be in a meeting all morning anyway. That’s fine. She’s more than happy to walk him up to HR and introduce him to a woman named Hope.

Hope startles when she sees them, and her fingers freeze on her keyboard, but there is definitely some kind of movement in her lap, barely visible over the edge of the desk. Then she smiles and turns to face them and Ethan does not comment on the fact that he can see two long, black limbs trying to shove some sort of yarn project into the drawer of a filing cabinet behind her. Priya nods at a job well done and leaves him there.

“How can I help you?” Hope asks. There’s something not quite right about her smile, but Ethan doesn’t comment on that either.

Instead, he says, “Do you have any sort of job description or scope of duties for the Assistant Archivist position?”

Hope blinks.

“The what?” she asks.

“The Assistant Archivist position.”

She blinks again. Her smile is gone, and he’s honestly glad for it. “Assistant… Archivist.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a thing?”

“I would hope so? I was just hired as one, so…”

She blinks again, then shakes her head. “Right. Sorry. Of course. I just… Honestly, I was sort of under the impression no one _could_ work down there but the Archivist.”

Given that apparently only one other person has in longer than Ethan’s been alive, he doesn’t exactly blame her. Still, he’s pretty sure it’s her job to know these things, and he’d really like an answer.

“I understand,” he says, “but I _do_ work down there. So…”

“Right. Yes. Assistant Archivist, you said? Just a moment.” She turns back to her display, taps a few keys, and then starts scrolling. And scrolling. And scrolling. All the while singing “Assistant Archivist Archivist Assistant Assist Assist the Archivist” under her breath.

Three minutes later, Ethan is still waiting.

“Are you… _sure_ that’s your position title?” she asks finally, and Ethan turns around and heads back to the Archives.

—

While he hopes he never has to do most of the things Sasha listed as her duties, there are a couple Ethan thinks he can probably manage. He has no idea what, if anything, might need to be done with the statements that already have case numbers, but there’s a shelf of boxes near the Archive entrance labeled “Me Next!” that Jon had said were unprocessed. Maybe he won’t be able to fit them all into the proper categories, but there have to be some that are obviously false, and it seems as good a way as any to get more familiar with the database.

Halfway through the day, he switches to listening to some of the old audio files to figure out the format. It doesn’t seem too complicated. Probably he can record a couple test statements, get a feel for it.

Twenty minutes later, he gives up searching and asks Jon where to find their recording software. Jon frowns and tells him he’s better off finding a free one online, so Ethan reaches out to IT instead.

Ten minutes after that, he gets a message from Cass Walters telling him to check his apps again and that he’ll “know it when [he] see[s] it.” So he does.

Halfway through the list there’s an icon with a stylized cassette tape. It’s labeled “IM TELLING YOU IT FUCKING WORKS JON”, and Ethan figures that’s probably it. Thankfully it’s fairly intuitive, and it might end up being a total waste of his time, but by the end of the day he has three halfway decent recordings and feels like he accomplished _something_ , at least.

—

On his sixth day, one week after starting, Ethan comes in just in time to hear someone say, “Are you _kidding_ me?!” really quite loudly in Jon’s office.

It doesn’t sound like the sort of conversation he wants to disturb, so he goes to his desk and gets set up as quietly as he can and meets the cat’s judging stare head-on while eavesdropping. She blinks and rubs up against his leg, and he can’t help but think it was some kind of test. Apparently he passed.

“You know everything, Jon,” the same person says, and Ethan is at least 80% sure it’s Martin.

“Not ev—”

“ _Everything_ ,” Martin repeats. “How can you possibly not know what your own assistant is supposed to be doing?”

“I can’t know things that don’t exist, Martin. Chloe always wanted to figure everything out herself and made things up as she went along. It may as well be a new position. So, I don’t _know_.” There’s a moment of silence.

“Jon,” Martin says.

“… Yes, Martin.”

“Love,” Martin says.

Jon sighs. “Yes, Martin. I realize—”

“That might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“ _Yes_ , Martin. I get it.”

“He’s an Assistant Archivist! Tell him what you need assistance archiving!”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jon says. If either of them say anything in the few minutes after that, though, it’s too quiet for Ethan to hear.

“Alright,” Martin says, like they’ve come to some kind of agreement despite the silence. “I love you.”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon says, the same tired way he’d said it before, though there’s a slight laugh at the end now. “I know.”

Martin is smiling when he comes out of Jon’s office. Instead of leaving the Archives, he walks up to Ethan’s desk and sets a mug of barely steaming tea down upon it.

“It should be just right now,” Martin says, like he’d known exactly when Ethan was going to arrive— despite him being half an hour early— and purposely made the tea so it would have cooled to the perfect temperature the moment he walked in. It is, of course, made perfectly as well. “I should have warned you a bit more about Jon. He’s a bit of a moron sometimes, but he means well. The next time you ask a question and he says he doesn’t know or tries to send you to someone else, just ask again, a bit slower. Usually the critical thinking capabilities will catch on then. Come see me whenever you’re free on Friday. I’d like to hear how you’re doing, once you actually get into the work.” And then he’s gone before Ethan can say a word.

In the doorway of his office, Jon clears his throat.

“I’ve been— reliably informed that I owe you an apology,” he says, and Ethan really would rather he didn’t. Apologies are almost always terrible, no matter which side you’re on. They’re awkward and often pointless. It’s not like he’s hurt or anything. Jon feeling bad isn’t going to do anything but make Ethan uncomfortable. “I sho—”

“Okay,” Ethan says. “Can we just skip to you training me?”

“… Yes. Yes, we can,” Jon says, possibly as relieved as Ethan to move on. He looks less tense, at least. “We usually wait until the end of probation to explain the fears, but that won’t exactly work here, so we’ll get to that in a moment. You’ve already started recording, so I suppose the first thing to know is that true statements won’t record digitally. The audio always ends up corrupted. I don’t think I’ll have you start recording any real statements quite yet, but once you do, you’ll have to use the— the tape…” He trails off, staring down at the small stack of statements Ethan recorded yesterday.

When Jon shows no sign of continuing, Ethan tentatively prompts, “The— tape recorders?”

“You’ve already started recording,” Jon says again.

“Yes?”

He pulls out the statement at the bottom of the stack and holds it out to Ethan, shaking it slightly. “You recorded _this_ statement.”

“Yes? It was the last one I did before I went home last night.”

“Play it for me.” So Ethan does. Three minutes in, staring at the paper in his hand, Jon tells him to stop. “That’s not… Set up a new recording. I’m going to start reading this, and after two minutes, I want you to take this from me and stop the recording.” So Ethan does that too.

It had felt a bit… odd, when Ethan read the statement yesterday. Like the air got thicker, almost. But he’d also been very tired, and while a lot of things are weird at the Institute, that doesn’t mean everything is. It’s different when Jon starts reading. Not so much the air getting thicker as pressing down on them, and Ethan feels very uncomfortably like someone is making direct eye contact with him. It’s creepy. He almost misses the two minute mark.

The second he pulls the paper from Jon’s hands, the feeling lifts. Somehow, he isn’t surprised that playback of _Jon’s_ reading comes out with a terrible screech and a whole lot of broken, garbled nonsense.

Jon looks between Ethan, the paper, and the display again and again.

“Jon?” Ethan asks.

“That’s not fair,” Jon replies. Then, with a sigh, “I guess I have more work for you than I thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr [here](https://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/634417319531233280/for-the-reverb-inspiration-thing-honestly-id)


End file.
